Hello, and Goodbye, Ohio

Hello Ohio
The back roads
I know Ohio
Like the back of my hand
Alone Ohio
Where the river bends
And it's strange to see your story end
--words and music: Karin Berquist

To hear Over the Rhine sing Karin Berquist's song, Ohio, click here. I have to admit, that this is not a song I had ever heard before, but my shtick is to always open this blog with a song, and in searching for something about Ohio, I found this lovely ballad. I hope you enjoy it.

I have no idea what this is, but they appear all over the mid-west
My cousin Ron suggested that it's a storage unit for highway road salt
Taken 5/20/2011 in Peoria, Illinois

After breakfast in Peoria, we continued eastward with the goal of spending the night in Richmond, Indiana. Richmond is the eastern-most city in Indiana on I-70, and a mere 30 miles from Dayton, Ohio, where Kevin was planning to attend the largest Ham Radio gathering in the U.S. (for all I know, in the world), the Dayton Hamvention. The trip across Illinois and Indiana was uneventful, and we arrived in Richmond mid-afternoon. After checking in to our motel, we rested a while, then decided to see what the town had to offer. The first thing we noticed was an extremely long detour as the main street into town was closed due to construction. According to Wikipedia, the population of Richmond is 36,812 with 68,917 people living in Wayne County, of which Richmond is the seat. As our detour led us further and further afield, it sure felt as if the population was quite a bit larger.

Richmond was founded by Quakers moving west, and even today the town is home to many Quaker institutions, including Earlham College. It also hosts branch campuses of Indiana University and Purdue University. The campuses appeared lush, green and quite prosperous as we drove by. The grounds of the Reid Hospital were also inviting, with a large pond and fountain separating the facility from the highway. Once again, Kevin did all the driving, and I didn't ask him to stop for photo ops, my bad.

The Wayne County Government Center
Taken 5/20/2011 in Richmond, Indiana

Getting up early on Saturday, we drove directly to the arena where the Hamvention was being held. The good news is that we had no trouble getting a parking place, even though every thing was blocked off and the police were directing traffic so that you could not turn left into the arena's parking lot. The bad news was that we were there hours before anything opened--and hadn't yet had breakfast. In time, the outdoor flea market opened, and we wandered through the almost endless rows of vendors selling everything from sun shade hats to a full-sized Dodge van. Mostly radio stuff, which was to be expected, but also camera equipment, clothing, leather goods, crafts, food, and even leather chaps and vests. Note to Keith--I almost bought a cap and had it embroidered to read "W1KGK/3rd Party/Bryan," but the vendor didn't accept plastic and I didn't have the cash. (Ham operators will get the joke.) At nine, the exhibition hall opened, and we entered the mass of people filling the aisles between the vendors' booths. A week earlier, Kevin had purchased a new Kenwood radio which we had installed in the Volvo, and he wanted to get the navigation system that connected to that radio. The Kenwood booth had none in stock--they had sold out on Friday, and the Ham Radio Outlet booth gave us the same response. A third vendor did have them on hand, and we picked one up, paying the sales tax and taking it with us rather than having it shipped to Montana. As Kevin continued to roam the hall, I left for what, to me, was more interesting--the flea market. After a couple of hours, even Kevin had had enough, and we met at the car to head on toward West Virginia.

The main exhibition hall at the 2011 Dayton HamVention
Did I mention I hate crowds?
Taken 5/21/2011 in Dayton, Ohio

It's a straight shot from Dayton to Columbus and on to Wheeling, West Virginia on I-70, and that's the route we took. While sitting in Dayton waiting for Kevin, I got a message from Michele Holloway, the woman who served the Smith River United Methodist Church at the time of my mother's death. The Smith River parsonage is right across the street from my house there, and Michele and I became friends while I was staying in California. She left to pursue her degree in divinity, and as it turns out, she was graduating from the Methodist Theological School in Ohio at the same time we were driving across the state. I would have liked to stop and see her, but with her commencement and our time schedule, things just didn't work out. I do want to say "Congratulations on your graduation, Michele!" (She's a faithful reader of this blog.)

Home-built gazebo at one of the "Seasonal" cabins at Roseland
Taken 5/21/2011 at Roseland Resort, Proctor, West Virginia

Following Derwin's directions (Derwin is Cousin Ron's partner of 25 years), we left I-70 on the Ohio side of the river, and followed Ohio Highway 7 south till we crossed the river on the Moundsville (WV) bridge. Once at Moundsville, we began the trek up into the mountains to get to Roseland Resort, the gay men's campground I had first visited back in 2007. It was at Roseland that I was given the business card that led me to meet my first cousin, Ron Stephens. I wrote about Roseland and about meeting Ron four years ago. If you wish to revisit that post, you can find it here. There have been a lot of changes at the resort since I last visited, but the staff is still friendly, the men handsome, and the grounds well tended and in full bloom. The one disturbing addition is a plant on a neighboring ridge where hydraulic fracturing is being performed. This process, usually called "fracking," enables energy companies to more easily remove oil and gas from the ground by beating the earth into submission. The process is noisy, dangerous, and has potential long-term risks. The short term damages include the way the pavement on these mountain roads has been broken by the weight of the trucks carrying materials into the plants, the visual pollution of seeing a 24-hour a day plant operating just across the holler, and the constant noise that continues day and night as the underlying rock is ground up for gas. Does it say anything that this process was first developed by Halliburton? Still, I was able to stop and smell the roses, er irises, and we spent the night in Ron & Derwin's camp trailer.

Just one of the irises in bloom at Roseland
Taken 5/21/2011 at Roseland Resort, Proctor, West Virginia

All I Owe Ioway

An Iowa farm viewed through the windshield
Taken 5/19/2011 somewhere in western Iowa.

I've got Ioway in my hair!
I've got Ioway in my ears and eyes and nose!
Oh, I know all I owe I owe Ioway,
I owe Ioway all I owe and I know why.
I am Ioway born and bred,
And on Ioway corn I'm fed,
Not to mention her barley, wheat, and rye!
--Music by Richard Rogers, Lyrics by Oscar Hammerstein II

There are lots of videos on Youtube of what appear to be various high school musical performances of Rogers & Hammerstein's State Fair. If you wish to go look for them yourself, be my guest.

Day three of our drive east consisted almost entirely of crossing Iowa. Now Iowa isn't all that wide, from west to east, and Des Moines sits almost dead center as you cross the state on I-80. Our intent was to stop there and stay overnight with my friend Fred who was so gracious to me when I first crossed Iowa (that time north to south) back in 2007. We left Sioux City, driving south on I-29. Sioux City is located on the Missouri River where South Dakota, Nebraska and Iowa all come together. Before we could head east on I-80, we first had to drive an hour or so south, following the river all the way.

Bridge over the Missouri connecting Iowa and Nebraska
Taken 5/19/2011 south of Sioux City, Iowa

Turning east on I-680, we crossed seemingly endless rolling hills covered with farms. Kevin did most all the driving, which allowed me to aim my camera through the windshield, but he never stopped so all my pics have a bit of window glare. Not up to my usual standards, but you get the idea of what the countryside looks like.

Something new rising above the corn fields
Taken through the windshield in western Iowa, 5/19/2011

We got to Des Moines about 11:30, and Fred took us to lunch at the Des Moines Art Center. If you're in the area this summer, by all means stop and see the great large-scale pieces of Bear art. (No not the ursus kind, the hairy gay man kind of bear). The Center has a stunning collection of 2-D and 3-D art and we enjoyed the time spent wandering the halls perusing the paintings and sculptures. Leaving the Center, Fred drove us downtown to see the Pappajohn sculpture collection. This outdoor sculpture garden is filled with some magnificent work, but it was also filled with three bus loads of school children, so we chose to drive around the park, rather than walk through it. Unfortunately, I had left my camera at Fred's home, so no pictures to share.

Back to Fred's for dinner with our friend Harold, the owner of the Raccoon River Retreat--a gay men's campground about twenty miles west of Des Moines. Checking the map and the clock, we felt that it best to continue on our way rather than spend the night with Fred. We promised we'd stop on our way west, and got back on I-80 eastbound.

Another farm viewed through the windshield
Taken 5/19/2011 in eastern Iowa

Kevin did all the driving across Iowa, and in time we got to the mighty Mississippi at Davenport. Crossing into Moline, Illinois as darkness fell, I fell with it into a deep sleep, awakening only when Kevin pulled off the highway at Peoria where we spent the night.

One final look at Iowa farmland
Taken 5/19/2011 in eastern Iowa

Like a Bird on the Wire

Stylized Tipi found at every South Dakota Rest Stop
Taken 5/18/2011 at Chamberlain, South Dakota, overlooking the Missouri River

Like a bird on the wire, Like a drunk in a midnight choir,
I have tried in my way to be free.
Like a worm on a hook, Like a knight from some old-fashioned book
I have saved all my ribbons for thee.
If I, if I have been unkind, I hope that you can just let it go by,
If I, if I have been untrue, I hope you know it was never to you.
--Words and Music by Leonard Cohen

To hear Leonard Cohen sing Bird on the Wire, click here.

Now why would Leonard Cohen's classic come to mind as we're driving across southeastern Montana? Well, the Montana state bird is the Western Meadowlark, and they were singing so loudly that I could hear them over the CD I had playing, over the noise from Kevin's Ham Radio, and over our own conversation. But I couldn't see any of them until Kevin suggested I look at the fence posts along the highway. Sure enough, there they were, both on the posts and on the barbed wire between the posts. What song would you think of at that point?

Our second day on the road started with breakfast at the only restaurant in Broadus open at that time of the morning. I don't know if the waitress was having a bad day or if she just liked to joke with her customers, but it was an interesting meal. At one point I questioned the slogan that Broadus is the "wavingest town in the West," and she gave me the one finger salute, saying, "I can wave at people." One of the things I like about small town cafes is the local crowd that comes in for coffee every morning. Just beyond our table was a round table set for eight. One by one, five people (four men and one woman) came in and sat down, probably in the same seats they always took. I watched for quite some time and the five just sat there, not talking, not smiling, not really acknowledging each others' presence. They've probably been meeting like that, every day, for years and have nothing left to say to one another.

After breakfast, we hit the road, traveling east on US 212 toward Alzada, the southeastern most town in Montana. Leaving Montana, we crossed a twenty-something mile stretch of Wyoming before entering South Dakota near the town of Belle Fourche. The highway in Wyoming was in excellent shape, which surprised me as it doesn't connect to anything else in Wyoming. Who maintains this road? Does Wyoming contract that out to South Dakota or Montana? I don't know, but just before we left Wyoming, we passed a large industrial complex. At first we thought it was a cement plant, but the signs told us otherwise. It was a processing plant for Bentonite. Now I'm not exactly sure just what Bentonite is--some sort of clay, I gather--so I went to Wikipedia and read their article. I'm still not sure what it is, not even sure what some of the words used in the article mean. If you're brave enough, you can read about it here. The maintenance question was answered when we saw the name of the company processing the clay--Halliburton. OK, it's obviously your tax dollars at work.

Belle Fourche is the closest town to the geographic center of the United States, and I've written about it before. We stopped in town so that I could use the rest room and Kevin could get some Pepsi. On the way out of the store, I saw a large display of truck balls. Surely you know what I mean by "truck balls." They're the plastic (or sometimes metal) scrotum and testicles that people attach to their trailer hitches on the backs of their pickups. That got me to thinking of my patient who told me last Wednesday about how her husband had gone in for surgery due to his testicular cancer, and how the doctors removed the wrong ball. It also got me to thinking about the diner in the Wolf Lodge Steakhouse who on Sunday had ordered "Rocky Mountain Oysters" without knowing what they were. Even the menu's hint that "They're not served on the shell." Didn't help her to understand. When she could not persuade her date to try some, I suggested across the aisle, "It's a guy thing."

Next stop after Belle Fouche was Rapid City, the Presidential City due to its proximity to Mount Rushmore, where we filled the tank before continuing east. This is the fourth time I've driven (or been driven) across South Dakota, albeit only the second time taking Interstate 90. There were two stops I wanted to make, but figured we'd make good time on the crossing. What I hadn't counted on was just how long a trip it is, and how empty South Dakota is along its route.

We didn't stop at Badlands National Park; I'd driven through the park on my last trip in 2007, and Kevin thinks that the Montana landscape is more interesting. I did, however, insist on stopping at Wall Drug, in Wall, SD.

As a child, I recall seeing signs on every highway telling you how far you were from Wall Drug. I may have even seen one in Rovaniemi Finland when I went to visit the Arctic Circle. Those signs are now history, along with the other ubiquitous highway signs advertising Burma Shave. Wall Drug, however, is a thriving concern, and, I would guess, the only reason that Wall, South Dakota hasn't dried up and blown away in the wind. Somewhere in my collection of slides taken by my father, I have a picture of me, age 3, standing in front of Wall Drug. Now, thanks to Kevin, I have one of me, age 61, standing in front of Wall Drug. What goes around, comes around, or so they say. According to the company website, Wall Drug is "America's Favorite Roadside Attraction!" I won't say we visited all 76,000 square feet, but we did spend a bit of money on souvenirs at this tourist trap before getting back on the highway.

Me, age 61, in front of Wall Drug
Taken 5/18/2011 in Wall, South Dakota

It was becoming obvious that my prediction of us making Des Moines was a bit premature. Kevin responded that we were on vacation and who cared how long it took us to get somewhere. With that in mind, when I started seeing signs for the Pioneer Auto Museum in Murdo, SD, I suggested that we had to add that to our itinerary. What can I say about the Pioneer Auto Museum? Well, they sure have a lot of junk. Some really nice things too, including one of Elvis's Cadillacs and a Lamborgini tractor. All told there are something between 250 and 300 cars on display, but the sad part for me is that they're all crammed together. It was nearly impossible to get a good photograph of a car as there was no room to back up and focus. Still, we spent a couple hours wandering from building to building, seeing the 1902 curved-dash Olds, the 1914 Beardsley Electric (everything old is new again), and many, many more. I finally gave up on my photographic amibitions, saving my pixels for shots of radiator badges from unknown or forgotten marques (Franklin, Apperson Jackrabbit, Saxon, Velie Touring, etc.) Lunch in the GTO Cafe following the tour, then back on the highway.

1913 or is it 1914 Beardsley Electric--look out Chevy Volt
Taken 5/18/2011 in Murdo, South Dakota

Next stop, Mitchell, SD. It began to feel as if every town along I-90 was vying for our attention with some reason or other to get off the road, but Mitchell had been on my radar for several years. Mitchell is the home of the Corn Palace, a multi-use facility that in 2011 is hosting everything from the Mitchell High School Graduation to Loretta Lynn in concert. A large, ornate building that fills one city block, the exterior façade features murals redone every year "painted" entirely in corn cobs. Yellow corn predominates, but blue corn, red corn and other colored cobs enable the artists to get quite detailed images up for your enjoyment. One of the main murals on the front this year celebrates the 125th anniversary of the founding of Dakota Wesleyan University, also located in Mitchell. Ornate, yes. Ostentatious, probably. Worth a stop while driving I-90? Definitely.

The Corn Palace--yes that really is all made of ears of corn
Taken 5/18/2011 in Mitchell, South Dakota
(This one you really need to see enlarged)

East of Mitchell, we continued on and on (and on, and on), until we finally reached South Dakota's largest city, Sioux Falls. Roughly one quarter of the state's population lives in Sioux Falls and the surrounding county. This is where we left I-90 for I-29 which heads south to Sioux City, Iowa (and eventually to Omaha, Kansas City and beyond, though those cities were beyond the scope of our travels).

Minnehaha County Farm
Taken 5/18/2011 near Sioux Falls, South Dakota

We stopped for the night in Sioux City where we visited the Odyssey Casino, a structure built entirely on barges in the Missouri River. After losing some money at the Poker and Black Jack tables, we ate dinner in the casino's restaurant and found suitable accommodations at the downtown Ramada. And thus ended day two. Those of you who have been following my peregrinations over the past four years may recall that I wrote about crossing South Dakota back in 2007. On that trip I took the back roads across the state, and if you wish, you can read about the drive through the Badlands from Rapid City to Pierre here, and from Pierre to Des Moines, Iowa here.

Please Mr. Custer

OK, It's not a tipi, not an A-frame, and definitely a fixer upper
Taken 5/17/2011 on the Northern Cheyenne Indian Reservation

NOTE: Clicking on any picture will open a new window with a full-screen view of the picture. Also all links open in a new window.

Please Mr. Custer, I don't wanna go
Hey, Mr. Custer, please don't make me go
I had a dream last night about the comin' fight
Somebody yelled "Attack!"
And there I stood with a arrow in my back.

---Words and Lyrics by Fred Darian/Al DeLory/Joseph Van Winkle

Larry Verne recorded "Please, Mr. Custer" in 1960, and you can hear him sing the whole song
on YouTube.

I apologize for the fact that the text seems too big for the window.  I've tried to adjust it three times,
and it still isn't working.  Part of the problem is that the lines normally adjust themselves, but for
some reason, now I'm having to put in line breaks by hand.  If I have the time/energy, I'll go back
through it a fourth time and readjust everything.  If not, just bear with me.  With luck, this won't
happen next time.

Last weekend, the second weekend in May, 2011, Kevin and I drove to Portland,
Oregon for our monthly nutrient run.  Apparently we can now buy the nutrients we
use in Missoula, but not in the size containers we need, so we're still on the road
once a month to buy fertilizer.  On the way, Kevin suggested that we needed to
take a two week vacation.  Now isn't it convenient that the largest Ham Radio
gathering in the country is in Dayton, Ohio, which is not all that far from West
Virginia--at least not in western U.S. thought patterns.  So, I readily agreed as
long as we could spend about a week with my family in the Mountain State.
Over the course of the weekend, we talked quite a bit about the trip, and whether
it made any economic sense to do it at this point, as we're facing losing our shirt
if our law suits against the State of Montana don't go our way.  On the other hand,
if we do lose our court cases, we won't have the money to make a trip anyway,
so why not do it now and use the time to try and figure out just what our best
"Plan B" is.

Once back in Missoula, I called my cousin Ron in Parkersburg and warned him
that we're headed his way.  I also left a voice message for my cousin Sharon
telling her to be ready to fix a pitcher of margaritas and have some Pepsi in the
fridge, but I didn't tell her why.  She'll figure it out.  She's a smart gal.  I didn't call
my cousin Vicki, but if she reads this blog she'll know we're on the way, and she'll
be expecting my call.  She'll get one, too.

Monday I spent getting prescriptions filled, the oil changed, the gas tank filled, and
taking care of business at home.  Tuesday morning, Kevin was scheduled for a
colonoscopy, but figured we could be on the road by noon.  Actually, we made it
by 12:30, so I can't complain.  As he had been sedated for the hospital procedure,
I got to do most of the driving.  Heading East on Interstate 90, we had much better
weather than the last time (Easter weekend) we made the run to Billings.  Blue
skies, sunshine, beautiful scenery.  Who could ask for anything more.  As I was
driving, I chose the music, and as we drove, we listened to the McGarrigles,
Joan Baez, and David Walburn.  (Who, I hear you ask, is David Walburn?)  Well,
he's a Montana singer/songwriter, and I just happened to have one of his CDs in
the case.  In a show that there is no such thing as coincidence, as we approached
Big Timber, with the Crazy Mountains to our north, David started singing "Headed
For the Crazies."  You can learn more about David and even hear a clip of
"Headed For the Crazies" on his website.  On our trip at Easter, I had tried
repeatedly to get a good photo of the Crazies, and wasn't terribly successful
due to the weather.  Today, the weather was picture perfect, wouldn't you say?

The Crazy Mountains (AKA The Crazy Woman Mountains)
Taken 5/17/2011 near Big Timber, Montana

There are many stories about how the Crazies got their name, but the most
common seems to concern a woman who got lost in the range and went insane. 
A more erudite reason for the name is that the Crow Indians considered these
mountains an important venue for vision quests.  When they tried to explain that
to white settlers, the whites, unfamiliar with the concept of a vision quest, thought
that the Injuns were saying that the mountains were where you went crazy.  Now
that certainly sounds plausible to me, don't you agree?

We reached Billings around 5 p.m. and decided it was time for dinner.  A bit early,
perhaps, but Kevin hadn't eaten since Sunday (preparing for the colonoscopy) and
I had skipped breakfast, so...  The eternal question, "Where do you want to eat?"
One place that we both can agree on is the Olive Garden, so I programmed
TomTom to get us there easily.  Creature of habit that he is, Kevin said, "You
know what I want," and left for the men's room.  I did, indeed, know what he wanted,
so ordered his Shrimp Alfredo and got myself a serving of Stuffed Chicken Marsala.
mm-mm-good!  After dinner, we filled the tank at the adjacent Costco and were
quickly back on I-90 headed toward Hardin.

I have no idea what this is, but thought it beautiful
Taken 5/17/2011 in Hardin, Montana

Hardin holds many childhood memories for me as my father served as interim pastor
at the Congregational Church there when I was a child.  Every Sunday we'd drive
from Billings on the old U.S. 87, and I still have clear visions of an Easter basket
(think I still have the stuffed bunny from that basket), eating at the home of Mrs. Ping,
visiting the Custer Battlefield (now called the Little Bighorn Battlefield), and, most
especially the time I threw up all over the church steps.  I used to get so car sick
on that ride.

Approaching Hardin, Kevin saw a sign for Dairy Queen and started chanting "There's
a Dairy Queen in Hardin, There's a Dairy Queen in Hardin."  Well I know a mating call
when I hear one, so of course we stopped at the Dairy Queen.  Waiting at the drive up
window, I looked over and saw two trees planted next to the neighboring Taco Bell.
The trees were in full bloom, and were so astonishingly lovely, that I had to grab my
camera and jump out of the car.  I have no idea what it is, but maybe one of you can
tell me.

Hardin is the county seat of Big Horn County (number 22 if you're following my 
Montana Counties blog), and Big Horn County is Crow Country.  The Crow Indian
Reservation covers most of the county, and parts of some adjoining counties as well.
The Crow were a friendly tribe, and served as scouts for Custer's 7th Cavalry.  Hmmm,
maybe they weren't so friendly... NO, the Crow were our friends.  Their great chief
Plenty Coups had a vision early in his life where he saw all the bison of the plains
running into a hole in the ground and disappearing.  Once the bison were gone, a
smaller breed, similar to the bison but spotted black and white, came out of that hole.
He interpreted this dream to mean that the way of the Indian was passing away, and
the time of the white man had come.  From that point on, the Crow welcomed
the whites and worked with them.  In return, they got a reservation on a portion of
their traditional homeland.  If you can find a copy, I heartily recommend Frank Bird
Linderman's biography of Plenty Coups, American.

On these rolling hills, the men of the 7th Cavalry met their maker
Taken 5/17/2011 at Little Bighorn Battlefield
(formerly Custer Battlefield)

We could have stayed on Interstate 90 and driven through Wyoming, but there is a
shortcut in the form of US Highway 212 which crosses southern Montana heading
toward Belle Fourche, South Dakota.  212 leaves I90 at the site of the Battle of the
Little Big Horn, and crosses both the Crow and the Northern Cheyenne reservations.
It passes through Big Horn, Rosebud, Powder River and Carter Counties in Montana,
but the only town of any size is Broadus.  It was there we intended to spend the night.

In March, 2010, I had driven through Rosebud and Powder River Counties, looking
to add photos and stories to my on-going work, Glory of the West--a Photographic
Portrait of Montana's Fifty-Six Counties, a work I am currently publishing as a blog.
I had fallen in love with the red hills covered by dark green forests, and the friendly
people I had met along the way.  In writing up Powder River County (number 9 on
Montana license plates), I had determined that I would have to return and check
out some of the places I'd missed in 2010.  Now was my chance.  I especially wanted
to eat at the Judge's Chambers, but alas, we arrived in Broadus only to learn that
the restaurant doesn't open until June.  Just my luck.

We checked into our motel, the only one in town, and retired for the evening.  At
2 a.m. I was wide awake and in pain, a pain that only occurs when I'm lying down.
Nothing to do but get up, grab the camera and the computer, and put together this
little travelogue for you.  Hope you enjoy it.

I intend to keep you all informed as we cross the country.  Next stop will be Des
Moines, Iowa, where we'll visit our friends Fred and Harold.  They're expecting us on
Thursday, but I fear we'll probably get there a day early.  It's not that far from Broadus
to Des Moines--well, except in terms of culture, geography, topography, and mindset. 
Still, guess I'll have to call Fred and warn him.

Till later....

The Red Hills of Powder River County
Taken 5/17/2011 between Ashland and Broadus Montana
Please enlarge this one, it's worth it.

Look to the Rainbow

Look, look, look to the rainbow.
Follow it over the hill and the stream.
Look, look, look to the rainbow.
Follow the fellow who follows a dream.

--Songwriters: Burton Lane & E.Y. Harburg

Click here to hear Petula Clark sing "Look to the Rainbow." (Petula Clark played the role of Sharon McLonergan in the 1968 film version of "Finian's Rainbow," along with Fred Astaire as her father and Tommy Steele as Og the Leprechaun. You can read about the movie on the imdb web site.

The year 2011 has not been a kind one in many ways, and I've pretty much kept silent through the first third of the year. I hope that is at an end, now, and I'll try to explain just why I've been so down.

It started with my eyes. I was going blind due to cataracts in both eyes. We tend to take our eyes for granted, even when we watch someone else, someone near and dear to us lose their own eyesight. My mother, who loved to read and who knitted, crocheted and did very intricate needlework, developed glaucoma and macular degeneration. My dear friend Don, the first boy I ever had a crush on, has a hereditary disease that causes the males in his family to develop macular degeneration at an early age. I, myself, have worn glasses since I was in fifth grade, but somehow I thought I was exempt from further eye problems. Ahh, but it was not to be.

I first noticed problems this past fall. Even though I was wearing a prescription that was just a year old, my vision had become imprecise, to say the least. By winter, I was having trouble seeing when driving at night. On-coming headlights blinded me. I stopped driving at night, which also forced me to stop singing with the Missoula Gay Men's Chorus as I was afraid to try to get across Missoula in the dark, and I was beginning to have trouble reading the music.

At last I broke down and set up an appointment with my optometrist. I wasn't going crazy, but I was going blind. I had cataracts in both eyes, and I'd need to have them surgically removed. We set a date for me to meet with the surgeon, the doctor my optometrist told me he'd use if he had the need. Meanwhile, reading was becoming difficult as was working on my computer. As for photography, well I just about gave it up. I was having to rely on my camera as I couldn't tell through the viewer what was and was not in focus. Loading the pictures onto the computer and blowing them up didn't help, as I still couldn't bring things into a sharp focus. I gave up on writing for the same reason. No sharp focus, except the constant fear of complete blindness.

Me at 15.
Taken July, 1965 on Waikiki, Honolulu, Hawai'i

Then the Montana Legislature opened its ninety-day session, and it quickly became apparent that one of their main foci was going to be the repeal of Montana's Medical Marijuana law. Never before had the Legislature overthrown a voter-approved initiative. As the session wore on, it became apparent that we were dealing with a group of people who fit the old saw, "My mind is made up, don't confuse me with facts." My own personal facts included the large number of people I had come to love who were able to live their lives more fully through the powers of this illicit herb. And I have to admit that repeal of the law would most likely cause me to face bankruptcy and the loss of property that has been in my family for almost sixty years.

As the Legislature became more and more obsessed with repeal (there were several reform bills presented, some of which I could have easily supported), the reform bills were tabled or ignored, and repeal was the only thing the Republicans would consider. When they finally pushed through the repeal bill, the governor vetoed it along with many other bills the governor described as "bat-shit crazy." In a last minute action, the Senate wrote a "reform" bill and pushed it through, having to set aside their own rules to get the bill passed. The House then had to set aside their rules to accept the bill, and proceeded to make a bad bill even worse. I won't go into all the intricacies of the bill. The original version was forty-nine pages long. The stated purpose was to reduce the number of medical marijuana cards in Montana from the present number of approximately 30,000 to a mere 2,000. No one knows what inspired that figure. The long and short is that anyone who had a card for "Chronic Pain" would lose the card on July 1st. All stores would have to close by July 1st. Patients who still had a card after that date could grow their own, or have someone else grow for them, as long as the grower gave them the product and didn't charge for it. And a grower could only grow for three people at a maximum. Kevin and I have over three-hundred patients we provide for. This law puts us out of business.

I'd go to work in the morning, and face the fear and anger of our patients. That in turn would get me upset, raising both my blood pressure and my blood sugar levels. By the fall of 2009, I had succeeded in getting my glucose levels down from a high of 350 to almost normal levels. My doctor was quite pleased. Now, my monitor showed that I was back up into the 300s. I stopped using my monitor. It just added to my tension. I also stopped going to work.

The Legislature adjourned April 28th. The Montana Legislature meets for a maximum of 90 days EVERY OTHER YEAR. Unless a special session is called, they will not meet again until 2013. In their final days, they handed the governor Senate Bill 423, the so-called "reform" bill. On Friday, April 30th, the governor announced that while he thought that parts of the bill were unconstitutional, and that none of the bill really addressed Montana's problems, he would allow it to go into law without his signature. We are out of business as of June 30th, unless we get a last-minute reprieve. The reprieve can come in several forms, but the easiest (if not the most likely) is that the governor will have a change of heart and veto the bill. He has one more week in which to do that. Failing a veto, there will be a petition drive to get 75,000 signatures across the state asking the courts to nullify the bill. That will be harder, and it depends on the courts agreeing with the petitioners.

Was I ever this young?
Taken in August 1966 at the California State Fair, Sacramento

Finally, in all this mess, we have the actions of the Federal Government. The Bush administration (GW Bush, that is) had made no bones about prosecuting marijuana users and providers, even in states where medical marijuana was legal under state law. When Obama was elected, he stated that it was a misuse of federal funds to prosecute people acting under the laws of their own state. His Attorney General, Eric Holder, issued a written memorandum saying exactly that. So we were told. Then Obama appointed a known anti-marijuana zealot as head of the DEA. Since Obama's inauguration in 2009, the feds have prosecuted over 100 marijuana cases. Contrast this with 200 prosecutions during the entire eight years of the Bush administration. My only conclusion is that Obama and Holder lied to us. As we watched, federal agents raided shops in California and Colorado. On one day in Montana, the DEA, ATF, and Homeland Security agents raided fourteen shops in Montana alone, seizing computers, files, product and destroying hundreds of living plants. The U.S. Attorney for Montana sent a letter to the Legislature saying that the feds would prosecute state employees who issued medical marijuana cards. The U.S. Attorneys in Washington state sent a similar letter to governor Christine Gregoire. In other words, the federal government is back to its tricks of blackmailing the states. Just as they did with the 18 year old drinking age, seat belt laws and the 55 mph speed limit, the feds are saying "Do it our way, or we'll get you." I seem to remember hearing about something similar happening 150 years ago.

Our governor's announcement last Friday threw me into a deep funk. I got through Saturday, somehow, and Sunday. On Sunday, two things happened. First, Kevin likes to watch the Encore Westerns channel. Now me, I don't really care for westerns, so I retired to my study to set up my new Epson Perfection V500 photo scanner. At one point, I went downstairs and found Doris Day singing "Just Blew in from the Windy City." Now I don't care for westerns, but I love musicals (I am a gay man, after all), and I joined Kevin in front of the TV. I'd never heard of the movie "Calamity Jane," but it stars not only Doris Day but Howard Keel as well. There was a recurring theme that sounded an awful lot like "How Are Things in Gloccamora," from "Finian's Rainbow." The Gloccamora theme recurred so often, that I felt the music had to have come from the same composer. As it turns out, the Finian's Rainbow songs were written by the team of Harburg and Lane while the Calamity Jane songs were written by Sammy Fain and Paul Francis Webster, but if you know Finian's Rainbow, watch Calamity Jane and tell me I'm wrong in my impresion.

Me at 46. Was I hot or what?
Taken in May, 1996 in Astoria, Oregon

The one song that I knew from "Calamity Jane" came near the end, "Secret Love." On youtube, there's a clip from the movie with Doris Day singing this song. The movie is a fun ride for all, and we do have a connection in that Calamity Jane lived for a while near my home town of Laurel, Montana. James McLaird wrote a biography, Calamity Jane: The Woman and the Legend, with one chapter on her life in Montana. You can read excerpts from the book on-line. You can read about the movie on imdb.com.

Between the outright exuberance of the movie, and the pleasure I got from going though my drawer full of slides taken both by my father and myself, and starting to scan them onto my computer, the funk began falling away from me. I've now added eleven classic movie musicals to my Netflix queue, and so far I've scanned some 120 photos and slides. I know I have to keep busy, and stay in a creative mode if I'm to survive. And all praise to Gloria Gaynor, I Will Survive.

I apologize for crying on everyone's shoulder in this epistle. It is my firm intention to get back to writing on a regular basis, and on that subject, I've now added 11. Phillips County to my Montana counties blog, and will next be working on 12. Hill County. I plan to have all 56 counties photographed and written about before the world ends on October 21st of this year. (Note that Judgment Day is May 21st, but if you read far enough into the screed, you'll see that the world ends on October 21st.) The photos I've included in this post all stem from my slide scanning yesterday. And since this post is all about me, so are the pictures, with the exception of the one at the very end, which I took on March 21st, 2011 on our way into Palm Springs, California.

Now the song "Look to the Rainbow" has been sung by everyone from Barry Manilow to the Mormon Tabernacle Choir. Here's Aretha Franklin's version, which she dedicates to her own father, the Rev. C.L. Franklin. Finally, I would recommend the Finale to "Finian's Rainbow," where you'll not only hear Petula Clark, but also Fred Astaire singing "How Are Things in Gloccamora."

Oh, and my eyes? I've now had surgery on both eyes. The cataracts were removed and artificial lenses implanted. For the first time since fifth grade I can see clearly at a distance without glasses. I still need them to read, and middle distance, e.g. computer screens, are fuzzy even with the reading glasses. BUT, I can see, and that's a plus.

Rainbow seen just outside Palm Springs, California, the gayest city in the world

Leavin' On A Jet Plane

All my bags are packed, I'm ready to go
I'm standing here outside your door
I hate to wake you up to say "good-bye."
But the dawn is breaking, it's early morn,
The taxi's waiting, he's blowin' his horn,
Already I'm so lonesome I could die.
--John Deutschendorf (AKA John Denver)

To see John Denver sing this song with Peter, Paul and Mary, click here.


NOTE: Click on any photograph to view it full screen in a new window.

Not the jet plane on which we left

Saturday morning, March 26th, we packed our bags, loaded them in the car, and headed to the airport. I'm always a bit melancholy at the end of a trip, filled with mixed emotions. On the one hand, I'm glad to be getting back to the kids, home, my own bed, but on the other hand, there's a wistfulness about all the things that didn't get done while on the trip. This time was especially fraught.

In my last post, I talked about the frustrations we faced upon our arrival in Phoenix and the subsequent drive to Visalia, California. Those frustrations continued through the whole week. Monday morning, after checking out of our motel, we had a very good breakfast at the Main Street Café in Visalia, then drove to the Tulare County Court House so that I could add one more governmental building to my portfolio. We had a good meeting with the folks at BWGS, one of the companies we hope will agree to supply our new Hydroponics Warehouse in Phoenix, and then headed south to Los Angeles. Crossing Tejon Pass, the official dividing line between northern and southern California, we again drove through a snow storm--one so severe that it dominated the LA news. Why, oh why, does the snow seem to be following me everywhere I go?

In Los Angeles, well actually in Ontario, east of LA, we met with the Arizona representative for Sunlight Supply, another hydroponics supplier, perhaps the largest in the country. Art was very informative, but couldn't tell us whether he would accept our account--not until he had done his own research to make sure we weren't encroaching on anyone else's territory.

Having concluded all the meetings we could in California, we turned the Ford east on I10 heading back to Phoenix. Kevin had never been to Palm Springs, so we turned off the interstate onto California 111 and drove into the gayest city in the world. Appropriately enough, a giant rainbow appeared in the sky as we approached the city. Of course I photographed it, and posted the picture on Red Bubble.

Prickly Pear cactus in bloom at the Phoenix-Mesa Gateway Airport

Rainbows, of course, also indicate the presence of rain, and since it was raining so steadily, and since neither Kevin nor I are bar people, we just drove on through Palm Springs, gawking as tourists do, but not stopping. Kevin wanted to get further down the road before stopping for the night, and I had no interest in staying at a clothing-optional resort in the rain. I had noticed a road sign directing traffic to Mecca on our drive west, so I asked Kevin if we could take a brief sidetrip. He agreed, and now I can say I have been all over the Arab world, in a manner of speaking. I've now been to Baghdad (Oregon), Tunis (Montana), and now Mecca (California). None of them were noteworthy, and I feel no compunction to turn toward Riverside County when I say my prayers. East of Mecca, however, was another story. Rand McNally had marked the road with green dots, signifying a scenic drive, and the Painted Canyon we drove through was certainly that. Kevin stopped repeatedly so that I could take pictures, and I posted a few of them on Red Bubble as well.

We stopped for the night back in Blythe, but found a different motel this time, one of the nicest places we've ever stayed. The next morning we crossed the Colorado River, entered Arizona, and drove back to Phoenix, arriving at the Royal Villa around eleven a.m. This gave us plenty of time to head downtown to the city's governmental complex, where we got our city tax forms filed, then on to the building we want to rent where we met our business partner, Gary. We were supposed to meet with bankers the next day, but that didn't happen, and we haven't heard back from Gary, so I don't know what is happening on that front. Yet another frustration.

On Wednesday, we were supposed to meet with the doctor we are contracting with to screen prospective medical marijuana patients, but he called and cancelled. I can't help but wonder if he's just too busy to do what we need done. Still more frustration.

Downtown Phoenix, as seen from I17. Quite the mix of squalor and grand architecture.

Thursday, our extemely handsome realtor picked us up at the Royal Villa and took us to six different homes for our consideration. I fell in love with the very first house we saw (also the most expensive, of course), and number two was also great, in my opinion. Number 3 did not appeal at all to me, but was Kevin's favorite. Go figure. Turns out Kevin doesn't want a two story house, no matter how much I felt the upstairs lofts would be perfect for my weaving studio. Another thing that caught my attention: the two story houses had the laundry room on the second floor. At first I was taken aback, but when you think about it, where is most of the laundry generated? You can carry your napkins and placemats upstairs, or you can carry all the clothing and bedding downstairs. I'd rather have the washer and dryer close to the heaviest loads.

One of the cacti growing at the Royal Villa, Phoenix

House 4 was another two story that I liked (another loft for my weaving studio) but Kevin didn't, and that brought us to house 5. This one was closest to our proposed hydroponics warehouse, meaning the shortest commute, and was an older home in a well established neighborhood. It backs up to a golf course, and has absolutely no privacy in the back yard. We'd also have to make the open fencing dog proof so that the kids wouldn't get out and bother the golfers, but much to my surprise, I fell in love with the house. It felt like "home." No large space for my weaving, no privacy, no pool, but still. I had to admit to the realtor that the house had nothing on my wish list, but I could live there quite comfortably. The next door neighbor told us that he, aged 55, was the youngest person in the neighborhood, and that's when the realtor found that the house is in a seniors only area. I guess, much as I hate to say it, that Kevin and I both fit that bill. House 6, however, if I had the money in hand, would be mine now. On a single level for Kevin, with a completely private back yard and a built-in pool, new paint, new carpeting, new appliances, new roof, and in our price range. The only problem is that we still don't have the go-ahead for either of the ventures we're hoping to start in Phoenix. We drove back to the Royal Villa with my frustration level at the tipping point.

Friday, we spent most of our time at the Royal Villa, with me naked by the pool for most of the day. In the evening, the doctor called, and we met him at a Glendale Hospital at 8 pm. Maybe, just maybe, things will work out, but I'm still not convinced.

Saturday, as I mentioned above, we packed up and headed to the airport, arriving three hours early. I know Kevin didn't understand my mood, and I'm not sure I can explain it to him. Now that we're home, I'm glad to be back in my own house, with the kids on my lap, but at the same time I miss the blue sky, sunshine, and warm temperatures we had in Phoenix. Not to mention all the time naked at pool side. Oh well, life does go on.

Still not the jet plane we left on, but one parked at Phoenix-Mesa Gateway Airport

For John Denver singing "Leaving on a Jet Plane" with Cass Elliot, click here.

The Tulare Dust

The Tulare dust in a farm boy's nose
Wondering where the freight train goes
Standin' in the field by the railroad track
Cursin' this strap on my cotton sack
--Merle Haggard

Listen to Merle Haggard sing The Tulare Dust by clicking here.

I haven't thought of this song in years, and I don't think I ever heard Merle himself sing it. Back in my college days, there was a coffee house on San Pablo Avenue in Berkeley called Freight and Salvage. (As you can see from the link, the Freight is still around, just not on San Pablo Avenue.) I loved going to the freight to hear such greats as Bruce U. "Utah" Phillips and Rosalie Sorrels. I still sing Phillips' "Colorado State Song" and Sorrels off-center version of "My Favorite Things," but the singer I enjoyed most at the Freight was a young man, a few years older than myself, who I swore was the reincarnation of my uncle Virgil Stephens, my mother's baby brother. Unfortunately, I no longer remember his name--but hey, this was almost 40 years ago--and boy does that make me feel old. My uncle drowned in the Ohio River in 1946, and this young singer was born that same year. According to my parents, Virgil could play any instrument he picked up, and so could the F&S singer. One evening, I took a tape recorder into the Freight, and with his permission, I recorded his entire concert. That tape is on reel-to-reel and my big Sony player has died, more's the pity. He performed at the Freight almost every month, and one of his regular songs was The Tulare Dust.

OK, that was back in the early 1970s, so why am I thinking (and singing) The Tulare Dust today? Well, due to a series of strange incidents, I find myself typing at a desk in a Super 8 motel in Visalia, California, the seat of Tulare County. I haven't been in Visalia in almost forty years either--not since I visited my best friends from college, Jim and Rosanna Brown when Rosanna was working as a librarian at the Tulare County Library.

Those of you who have read this blog from the beginning may remember the reason for the blog title, "If there were witchcraft." In case you need a reminder, there was a song that we sung at church camp when I was small, a song titled "Witchcraft" which I have subsequently taken as my own personal motto. The song goes:

Witchcraft

If there were witchcraft, I’d make two wishes,
A winding road that beckons me to roam
And then I’d wish for a blazing campfire
To welcome me when I’m returning home.

But in this real world, there is no witchcraft
And golden wishes do not grow on trees
Our fondest daydreams must be the magic
To bring us back those golden memories.

Memories that linger, constant and true
Memories we cherish----Camping days and You

The last line is slightly different than what I remember, and a slightly different version can be heard on YouTube on a 1957 recording by Patience and Prudence. At least the melody is right, and they have most of the same lyrics--just not the one that's most important to me.

"A winding road that beckons me to roam" has always been one of my fondest wishes. That and the blazing campfire to welcome me home. With Kevin, I've finally got a partner who also likes the open road, and when he mentioned that his trip to Phoenix was going to involve a side trip to Ontario and Visalia California, I begged to go along. And here I am.

We flew into Phoenix last evening, Saturday, March 19th, and we'll fly home from Phoenix next Saturday, the 26th. Turns out the 19th was not a good day to fly into Phoenix. Oh our flight was fine--we even managed to get an exit row so I had enough room for my legs. But we flew into Mesa on Allegiant and had to pick up our rental car at Sky Harbor, some 25 miles away--or in other terms, an $80 cab ride away. Kevin had arranged things thus because Allegiant's fare was considerably less than Delta's (Delta flies into Sky Harbor), but Enterprise wants considerably more if you pick up your car at Mesa--where Allegiant is based. Kevin thought he'd worked things out with the cab company which quoted him $25 for the cross-town fare, but first, Mesa Airport doesn't allow any cab company but Yellow Cab to pick up passengers, and second, once we walked away from the airport so that our arranged ride could pick us up, the driver turned the wrong way and our fare tripled. Such fun.

Once at the rental car center at Sky Harbor, we found that most flights into Phoenix had been late--very late--and Enterprise's supply of cars was severely depleted. Kevin drives a Ford Expedition, and always requests an SUV, but in order to get the car of his choice, we would have had to wait an additional half hour, or so, and since we were offered other choices at a reduced rate, I asked if we couldn't just take a full-sized car instead. Hence we drove out of the center in a beige Ford Fusion which is supposed to be a "full-sized" car. All I can say is that "full-sized" doesn't mean what it used to. Still and all, the Fusion is a fine vehicle and it carries the two of us and all our bags in style. Plus it gets a lot better mileage than an SUV, a definite plus when driving in $4.00+ per gallon California.

I had reserved a room at the Phoenix Airport Howard Johnson's, a non-smoking room with a king-sized bed. When we checked in, we found that the room was smoke-filled and the bed was definitely not a king. The desk clerk basically said, take it or leave it, it's all I have, and you're free to complain to the manager in the morning. We left it, and I will be complaining both to the HoJo manager and to Wyndham Rewards through whose website I made the reservation. Turns out there were NO rooms available in Phoenix. Some 10,000 folk had arrived for Spring Break and Spring Training, and we headed west, knowing that we would be driving that way in the morning anyway. Now if you look at a map of Arizona, there's not much west of Phoenix--even on Interstate 10 which was our route to Ontario, California. Well, there's 155 miles from Sky Harbor to Blythe, California which is the first town across the state line. And Kevin drove those 155 miles, arriving in Blythe at 1 am, local time--the first place we found a room.

This morning, we left Blythe, and drove on into California, past Palm Springs, through San Bernardino, and up into the mountains to the city of Hesperia where my second cousin, Pat Rumsey, lives. Pat and I have corresponded and spoken on the phone for many years, but we have never met. Faithful readers may remember that I wrote Pat an apology as a blog post after writing her a very nasty e-mail. I don't want to go back into that, but suffice it to say that meeting Pat was an experience that made me feel absolutely terrible--she's such a small woman, and I'm such a big man, that it felt as if I had thrown my weight around in a completely unfair fight. I hope to never do such a thing again. Pat and her husband Larry were delightful, and Pat and I talked family while Kevin and Larry watched fishing on TV. Pat's mother and my father were first cousins, her grandfather being my grandfather's eldest brother. While we visited, the wind came up strong enough to cause a power outage. Kevin had decided that he wanted to go to Visalia first and return to Phoenix via Ontario, so we still had at least three hours of driving ahead of us. We bid Pat and Larry good-bye, and headed out.

Filling up the Fusion at the cheapest station we could find, I felt the car rocking in the wind, and was glad that we weren't in a higher profile vehicle. Driving out of town, we passed a trailer that had blown over on its side, blocking one lane of traffic. Continuing on toward Tehachapi, the rain turned to sleet, then snow, and I was forced to call Missoula to ask why I had traveled all the way to southern California, only to find myself back in the snow. I'm so sick of winter.

As we wound down the pass into Bakersfield, the snow turned back to rain, which has continued all the rest of the way. Looking out the window just now, the rain is pouring, or in the Pennsylvania Dutch locution I grew up with, "It's pouring the rain down." There won't be any Tulare Dust around for a while.

Sorry that there are no pictures with all this text. I hope you enjoy the music. The weather just didn't warrant getting the camera out so far this trip.

And here's one more Merle Haggard song that I learned from that young singer at Freight and Salvage, Mama Tried.