A Quiet Place

As I've mentioned before, I'm working through Kim Manely Ort's book Adventures In Seeing with a group of online photographers. The adventure this week had us looking for and capturing the essence of a place. I had a hard time wrapping my mind around that until I read this definition of essence. Essence is the "attribute or set of attributes that make an entity or substance what it fundamentally is, and which it has by necessity, and without which it loses its identity." The last phrase stuck with me. I began looking at places with the question "if this or that were taken away, would it change what this place is?"

Wandered through an old cemetery, I began to think about it's essence. What makes it what it is? Of course, the obvious is that a cemetery is a place of burial, but the not so obvious is what keeps me interested in early cemeteries. They have characteristics that are not found in modern ones.

As I entered the gates of the cemetery and gazed around, my eyes first noticed the shapes and sizes of the markers. The size usually depends on the wealth and status of the deceased in their community.

I was intrigued by the symbols that had been chosen to be engraved on the markers. Symbols can tell about the person who is buried there. It can tell of their marital status, religious beliefs, whether they are a mother, father or child, and sometimes even their occupation. Clasped hands are very common which can stand for a man holding a woman's hand, indicate marriage, or a symbol of farewell. The mansions in heaven are often depicted showing eternal life. Wreaths speak of victory in death. Three chain links that stand for friendship, love, and truth can be found on markers provided by the Grand United Order of Oddfellows. They provided burial plots and markers for those who could not afford their own. Four-petaled flowers represent the dogwood blooms which means resurrection, sacrifice, and eternal life.

I found grave markers trimmed with simple things such as marbles, rocks, or shells. Other markers were so weathered or covered with lichen that they were impossible to read.

Many graves were outlined with concrete. Sometimes items such as rocks were placed in the concrete or the concrete was carved with names. Some plots, mostly family plots, were enclosed in ornate fences.

There were markers to honor veterans from the War of 1812, the Civil War, and both World Wars.

Wandering through old cemeteries leaves me with a sense of peace. It's quiet. Usually the only sounds I hear are the birds and the rustle of leaves beneath my feet. I can reflect on those who are buried here, the lives they may have lived, the sorrows they endured, and I can whisper a prayer of gratitude for those who served our country.

The Best Laid Plans

Some days no matter what you plan nothing seems to work out exactly right. Several weeks ago Mr. H won a gift certificate to a small boutique in a nearby town and gave it to me. I'm not a shopper, but I couldn't see wasting the gift certificate. Just the thought of going into the small boutique made me nervous, so the hour drive was stressful to say the least. I found the shop with no trouble. It was right on the main highway. I parked and then realized the shop was closed, not just for the day, but permanently. I'll admit I was relieved. I didn't want to go shopping anyway. 

Knowing that this small town had a historical downtown district I went prepared with my camera and a few notes. I usually love strolling by old buildings, but not this time. The main highway goes through the historical district; four lanes with lots of cars, log trucks, and large diesels. Not peaceful at all. VERY NOISY! I did find several ghost signs. The two on the Stewart Ice Company were the only ones I could read. The others were too faded. 

With all the traffic it was hard to get many picture of the buildings, so I concentrated on their windows. I love old windows. I love their shapes, the wavy glass, and peeking through them.

There were arched windows.

Windows covered with wire and . . .

windows covered with vines.

Windows with bars and . . .

windows with metal shutters.

Windows surrounded by colors and textures.

When I'd finally had all I could stand of the noise I headed to the Rockport Memorial Cemetery, which is on the National Registry of Historical Places. I expected a beautiful cemetery and it was. I expected it to be quiet and peaceful and it wasn't. They were mowing! 

The only thing that really worked out was where I ate. Now, if you're from the south and you want good barbecue you most go to a run down old place to eat. That's true!  The older the better. This particular cafe was in the back of an old grocery store. In 2000 the small neighborhood grocery was close to going out of business. Like everywhere else, people began using the big discount store that moved into town. To save their store, the Keeneys decided to open a cafe in the back. It seems that was a brilliant idea. The place is booming at lunch time. I was forewarned and decided to get there before the lunch crowd. It was everything I expected; a delicious chopped BBQ sandwich and a delicious cup of peach cobbler. I don't need fancy places to eat. Give me an old cafe and I'm happy.

Even if the day wasn't quite what I expected, it was still good to get away. I'm just hoping next time I go on an adventure, I can find a little piece and quiet!!

Solitary Wandering

I learned a new word this week.

solivagant: rambling alone; marked by solitary wandering

I learned this word from Leigh who posted about it on Focusing On Life's blog. You can go right here and read her post. I began to think about this word and how it perfectly describes me when I'm at my happiest; wandering alone.

My solivagant journey led me through one small Arkansas town, two cemeteries, and along the banks of a river. I'll show you a view things I found along my journey.

 I found an acorn made of marble that was covered in lichen.

I found steps that went up and then went down.

 I found my initial carved in stone.

I found a vintage water tank covered in rust.

I found a garden hidden away behind a historical building

complete with a vintage Case tractor. 

I found a 1939 Ford truck.

I know this because Mr. H knows his Ford trucks.

I took this picture just for him!

I found a strange and ferocious door knocker.

I found Pole Man.

Anyone from Arkansas should take note of the very faded Razorback cap.

I found a delicious piece of coconut pie in a small country cafe.

I found a beautiful river that is known for it's rainbow, brown, and cutthroat trout. 

Fishermen come from all of the world to fish in it's cold waters.

I found a wonderful old bridge, built in 1930, which takes you across the White River.

 I found myself alone as I drove across the bridge.

I found to my right an old train bridge built in 1905.

I found myself having a delightful day.

You should try it sometime.

Just stop in a small town or park and go wandering by yourself.

It's pretty wonderful.

Where ya wanna go?

Where ya wanna go?

I don't know, where ya wanna go?

North, east, south, west?

It doesn't really matter, just get in the car and let's go.

That's what my sister and I did one chilly morning. All we needed to be sure about was that we had our cameras and food. We never go without food! As we wandered west and then north and then east and then south we stopped when we wanted and took lots of pictures. We stopped at four churches. At least I think it was four, may have only been three. My sister has started a project photographing church steeples, so when we spotted a church we stopped.

We photographed an old barn which looked like it might not be standing too much longer.

We wandered through five old cemeteries

including one where some of Jerry's ancestors are buried. It's a small family cemetery, the Rose Garden Cemetery or better know as the Wilheim Cemetery. Jerry's ancestors that are buried here are the first generation of Hubmanns in the US. They immigrated from Switzerland, in the late 1800's. 

They originated from the German speaking section of Switzerland, near the border of Germany. Several of the gravemarkers are engraved in German.

As we made our way home we decided to stop at a garden center. I've never stopped at a garden center just to take pictures. I've been afraid they'd tell me to take my camera and leave, but not here, they welcomed us. We met the nicest lady who also loves photography. She gave us some pointers on where to look for good pictures, which was a big help since the center covers 30 acres.

She also let us use a golf cart to run around in. We hesitated about driving the golf cart. Neither one of us had driven one before and we knew it was pretty simple, but when we're together we can get ourselves in some unusual fixes. Did we dare?  Sure, we'd just be very careful and not drive off into the creek that cut through the property. There was a lot of laughing, but we made it safely around the center. It was beautiful with an amazing array of colors.

Among the pots and birdbaths was the biggest lantana bush I have ever seen. It is taller than I am. We had to check it out and yes, there's just one plant there. I love lantana, since it's so hardy it does well in my unattended yard.

The pansies, what can I say about the pansies? They are the happiest little flowers and they were certainly wearing their best colors!

It doesn't matter which direction we head, we always find interesting and amazing things and places. At the end of the day we're tired, but we feel so relaxed and so grateful for the time we can spent together.

Where ya wanna go next time?

I don't know, where ya wanna go?

Just Me And My Dad

"I want to go home."  How many times in our lives have we said that simple sentence? My dad, he says it all the time. Going home to many with Alzheimer's disease is wanting to return to their childhood home. Dad wants to go home to Hot Springs, Arkansas, where he was born and raised. I had the chance to take him one day this week and he was thrilled.

The first stop we had to make was at Antioch Cemetery where my dad's parents and brother are buried. It's a small cemetery next to the Old Union Primitive Baptist Church. The church itself has family connections. My great-grandmother attended school in this one room schoolhouse/church. I don't know when the building was built, but my great-grandmother was born in 1879 so it had to have been built in the late 1870's to early 1880's. One other pretty cool thing I learned while researching the church and cemetery is that my great-grandmother's middle name was Kathryn. My name is spelled differently and I wasn't named after her, but I still like the fact that we have the same name.

The church doors are always unlocked, so after parking my dad in a lawn chair with a snack I went inside for some pictures. The interior is painted a soft green. The only furniture is the pews, pulpit, and an old upright piano. As I pulled back the dust cover and opened the little door that led to the piano workings, I wondered how many times these hammers have struck the strings.

I wondered how many songs have been played on this old piano while worshipping our Lord. The red songbooks that were scattered around the pews were called "The Good Old Songs; The cream of the old music" It was compiled by Elder C. H. Cayce with a copyright date of 1914. I picked up a hymnal and if fell open to the song "Happy Day."  That's a good title for this day with my dad.

My dad doesn't really understand my need to photograph things. When I stopped in the middle of a bridge and took a picture of the creek below he was really quite confused. I was safe about stopping. On the eight miles we drove after we turned off the main highway we didn't see a single car. It's pretty isolated out there. After I'd taken pictures of the church, the cemetery, and the creek, he wasn't too surprised when I pulled over and took a few pictures of an old barn. None of the pictures turned out very good. The day was overcast and dark and I had other camera issues. Mainly, I pulled out my big camera, started to take a picture, and there on the back was the flashing words "NO CARD!"  Frustrating!  When will I ever learn to check my camera before I leave!  I did have my point and shoot camera with me, but honestly, it's just about worn out and doesn't take great pictures anymore.  At least I have pictures to go with the memory of "going home" even if they are dark and grainy!

There used to be an old fire tower on the mountain in the distance. All the teenagers, including my mom and dad used to picnic up there and climb the tower. My great-grandmother's land was on the other side of the mountain.

There are certain rituals that one must keep when you have Alzheimer's. Every time dad goes to Hot Springs he wants to picnic at Gulpha Gorge which is part of Hot Springs National Park. The park is in the deep canyon between Hot Springs Mountain and Indian Mountain  which is rich in history and legends. Once such legend tells of an old Indian Chief who had been in poor health and had come to the Valley of the Vapors for relief from his affliction.  The Valley of the Vapors is what is know today as Hot Springs National Park. As the name implies the springs in Hot Springs are just that, HOT springs. The water flowing out of the springs is about 143 degrees. Anyway, back to the story. The hot springs didn't help him and that night his illness became more severe causing acute pain. His daughter led him to another valley in search of cool water. After drinking this cool water, which by the way is high in calcium, he fell asleep and woke cured of his illness. He renamed his daughter Chewaukla, which means "Sleepy Water" and the springs were known thereafter as Chewaukla Springs.

Our next adventure was to drive up Hot Springs Mountain to the tower. The tower is 216 feet high. I had to laugh. I think we made history as the fastest people to go up the tower, walk around the observation deck, and descend. Dad walked around the observation deck one time and said "I guess we've seen all we need to see."

I remember as a child we'd go up the mountain and climb a 165 foot steel structure. I mean climb, as there was no elevator. I can still remember my shaking knees. Dad and I were thankful that there is an elevator in the newer tower.

(postcard of the mountain tower found on the internet)

On a clear day you're supposed to be able to see for 140 miles. Considering my eyes and the cloudy day, I didn't see near that far! Do you see the clearing right in the center of the upper portion of the picture below? That's the Hot Springs airport. My mother and her family lived just a little east of the airport.

We have a fun day and make some good memories. I was saddened that my dad is beginning to lose some of his memories of Hot Springs. Several times he questioned my route because he couldn't remember how to get from one place to another. Oh, and if you want to know, I know where all the bathrooms are between here and there!  You have to take your time when you're traveling with the elderly. 

Thanks for going along with me on this little trip down memory lane!