Leisurely breakfast and then on the road. We stop at Chattanooga to visit the Chattanooga battlefield. This is the first battlefield museum, set up in 1895! This and Chicamauga about 20 miles south are still visited by military people from all over the world to study the tactics, decisions, errors, and successes of these two significant battles. I can’t imagine climbing this mountain under fire, much less firing while climbing this mountain. It is said that the cannon on the mountaintop were essentially useless because they couldn’t be turned downward enough. The cannonballs just rolled out of them and down the hill before they could be fired.
We have decided to push on to Clarksville and have dinner with my cousin Cindy and her husband, Walt. We arrive at 4:45, set a dinner time for 6 and find our campsite for the night. Since it is Ash Wednesday we change our dinner from a steakhouse to Olive Garden. We have a nice, leisurely dinner with Cindy and Walt, give her the coins from Al for her and her sister Peggy, and head back to the RV park for a quiet evening.
Wednesday, February 25, 2009
Another Battlefield--February 24
We sit around after breakfast talking for hours. About 1:30 we set out for lunch at Paul’s Place, a funky restaurant in a little town near Acworth. Chicken livers! Haven’t had those for years, so Norb, Dale and I all order them. The cole slaw is excellent, cut into miniscule pieces. I look them up on RoadFood.com but they aren’t there. Unbelievable!
We go to the Kennesaw Mountain Museum. Another Civil War site. They abound in this corridor. This was a very important battle in securing the railroad line and cutting off the supply to the South. We check out the museum and then drive to the top of the mountain. We can see as far as downtown Atlanta and Stone Mountain to the south. I try to imagine what it would be like standing on the top of that mountain waiting for a charge by the enemy. Would you see then before they climbed that last obstacle? It’s not entirely clear that you would.
After a late dinner we watch Wall-E. I’ve seen it before but it is even better because I can take in the background so much more.
We go to the Kennesaw Mountain Museum. Another Civil War site. They abound in this corridor. This was a very important battle in securing the railroad line and cutting off the supply to the South. We check out the museum and then drive to the top of the mountain. We can see as far as downtown Atlanta and Stone Mountain to the south. I try to imagine what it would be like standing on the top of that mountain waiting for a charge by the enemy. Would you see then before they climbed that last obstacle? It’s not entirely clear that you would.
After a late dinner we watch Wall-E. I’ve seen it before but it is even better because I can take in the background so much more.
Anderonville and On--February 23
We eat breakfast at the hotel—waffles and coffee. We check out the dining room, pretty spiffy but kind of tired around the edges. We head north out of town to Andersonville and the POW Museum. Wow! Much more interesting that I thought it would be. There are 2 30-minute videos, one on Andersonville and the other on prisoners of war. Both feature lots of personal accounts, the first from letters and the second from letters and actual survivors. We join a walk on the grounds, which explains more clearly what happened at the site during the 14 months if was open. Some 45,000 people passed through the camp, which had 33,000 at its height. About 1,000 died each month from a variety of causes ranging from disease to starving to murder. Only about a third had shelters, which they fashioned out of whatever cloth they had available. Essentially they were marched into the compound, which was surrounded by 15-foot high log walls, and then let to survive as best they could.
While food was short, the most serious problem was water. All the water for the prisoners came from a slow moving stream that ran through the bottom of the hill. Prior to entering the prison area it was used by the Confederate soldiers as their latrine and medical waste was thrown into the stream. In the summer the stream wasted away to a trickle and was seriously polluted by the waste from the Confederates upstream and the latrine area for the prisoners downstream. A mosquito bite could be life threatening if scratched so much that it opened the skin. And Andersonville is below the ‘gnat line,’ that line in Georgia where the gnats in summer are so thick that you have to keep blowing upward to keep them at bay. While there were bad prison conditions in the North, none were as bad as Andersonville where 29% of the prisoners died. In addition, once they were ‘rescued’, thousands of them lost their lives on boats going home.
The POW Museum is set up so that you start with capture and end with ‘coming home.’ It is very well done, with a lot of personal accounts of soldiers and their families. It is very powerful. The greatest fear of the families was that the person that left wouldn’t be the person who came back. I can well understand that.
By 5 PM we are at Jim and Lynn Yates’ home in Acworth. Nice visit. We stay until 7 and then head out for dinner before going to Ann Glendinning and Dale Kelly’s. We are so comfortable with them. They share so many of our values, are interested in the same things, and can discuss it all with tremendous insight.
While food was short, the most serious problem was water. All the water for the prisoners came from a slow moving stream that ran through the bottom of the hill. Prior to entering the prison area it was used by the Confederate soldiers as their latrine and medical waste was thrown into the stream. In the summer the stream wasted away to a trickle and was seriously polluted by the waste from the Confederates upstream and the latrine area for the prisoners downstream. A mosquito bite could be life threatening if scratched so much that it opened the skin. And Andersonville is below the ‘gnat line,’ that line in Georgia where the gnats in summer are so thick that you have to keep blowing upward to keep them at bay. While there were bad prison conditions in the North, none were as bad as Andersonville where 29% of the prisoners died. In addition, once they were ‘rescued’, thousands of them lost their lives on boats going home.
The POW Museum is set up so that you start with capture and end with ‘coming home.’ It is very well done, with a lot of personal accounts of soldiers and their families. It is very powerful. The greatest fear of the families was that the person that left wouldn’t be the person who came back. I can well understand that.
By 5 PM we are at Jim and Lynn Yates’ home in Acworth. Nice visit. We stay until 7 and then head out for dinner before going to Ann Glendinning and Dale Kelly’s. We are so comfortable with them. They share so many of our values, are interested in the same things, and can discuss it all with tremendous insight.
Birthday Day--February 22
We break camp early—for us—8 AM, before breakfast. We find a McDonald’s back on the mainland and get a cup of coffee to tide us over. In Waycross, GA, we look for a restaurant downtown, a local place. No luck. Everything is either closed or, worse, out of business. Pretty sad place. We go back to the highway and stop at a Huddle House. I get another serving of country ham, probably my last. We sit at the counter so that we can watch the show at the grill. It is a delight to watch people move quickly and surely through a job they do so well. We decide that, because of the space, the skinniest person behind the counter is also the most ideal. This place has a smoking room! Haven’t seen that before.
We head for Americus and our hotel—yes, hotel. It is my birthday and I want a bathtub. I’ve had nothing but showers this trip. It’s time for a bathtub. We check into the hotel, an 1890’s Queen Anne/Victorian red stone and brick structure that takes up half of the entire block. It is a wonderful building with a 3-story lobby surrounded by balconies at each level. The lobby floor is the original marble. The hotel was essentially abandoned in the 60’s, after being turned into apartments and rented out for a number of years. Mr. Patel purchased it in the 90’s and renovated it. I wish him much success. It’s a hard business.
We check out the visitor information next door then head for Plains, GA, with a map in hand. The Plains High School now is an historic site, with Carter exhibits throughout the building and a video in the old auditorium. We spend an hour or so there and then go by the Carter house (the one that was built in 1961 and has had only one addition since, a garage to replace the one that Jimmy turned into a workshop). We drive to the Carter family farm where Jimmy lived until going away to the Naval Academy. It is actually in Archery, GA, a tiny town that had 12 black families and 2 white families. The Carters had a farm and a store, so they were relatively prosperous. I admire Jimmy Carter, the man, although I think that Jimmy Carter, the president, was relatively ineffective. I really hate the way he lost the election; I think the hostage crisis wasn’t his fault.
We go back to town, do a drive by of interesting houses, and look for a restaurant. Again, not much choice on a Sunday. The restaurant in the hotel isn’t open and neither is any other eating place downtown. We head out the highway and our choices boil down to Ryan’s Steakhouse and Ruby Tuesday. I choose Ryan’s. It turns out to the one of those buffet places, but they have pickled beets so I decide we’ll stay. We are the only white folks in the place for about half an hour, but then others come in. It’s not a problem, just an observation. I am aware of it and wonder if blacks are equally aware when they are the only blacks in a restaurant. Wouldn’t recommend Ryan’s if you have any other options.
We go back to the hotel, I take by bath, and settle in to watch the Academy Awards. Didn’t think of that when I requested a hotel!
We head for Americus and our hotel—yes, hotel. It is my birthday and I want a bathtub. I’ve had nothing but showers this trip. It’s time for a bathtub. We check into the hotel, an 1890’s Queen Anne/Victorian red stone and brick structure that takes up half of the entire block. It is a wonderful building with a 3-story lobby surrounded by balconies at each level. The lobby floor is the original marble. The hotel was essentially abandoned in the 60’s, after being turned into apartments and rented out for a number of years. Mr. Patel purchased it in the 90’s and renovated it. I wish him much success. It’s a hard business.
We check out the visitor information next door then head for Plains, GA, with a map in hand. The Plains High School now is an historic site, with Carter exhibits throughout the building and a video in the old auditorium. We spend an hour or so there and then go by the Carter house (the one that was built in 1961 and has had only one addition since, a garage to replace the one that Jimmy turned into a workshop). We drive to the Carter family farm where Jimmy lived until going away to the Naval Academy. It is actually in Archery, GA, a tiny town that had 12 black families and 2 white families. The Carters had a farm and a store, so they were relatively prosperous. I admire Jimmy Carter, the man, although I think that Jimmy Carter, the president, was relatively ineffective. I really hate the way he lost the election; I think the hostage crisis wasn’t his fault.
We go back to town, do a drive by of interesting houses, and look for a restaurant. Again, not much choice on a Sunday. The restaurant in the hotel isn’t open and neither is any other eating place downtown. We head out the highway and our choices boil down to Ryan’s Steakhouse and Ruby Tuesday. I choose Ryan’s. It turns out to the one of those buffet places, but they have pickled beets so I decide we’ll stay. We are the only white folks in the place for about half an hour, but then others come in. It’s not a problem, just an observation. I am aware of it and wonder if blacks are equally aware when they are the only blacks in a restaurant. Wouldn’t recommend Ryan’s if you have any other options.
We go back to the hotel, I take by bath, and settle in to watch the Academy Awards. Didn’t think of that when I requested a hotel!
Checking Out the Club--February 21
Lazy morning. Sit around camp, read, play the piano, update the blog. It’s cold out there. Warms up in the PM so we get the bikes off the back and ride to the historic districts. Takes a bit to locate the History Museum, which is located in the old stables for the Jekyll Island Club. Good video. Interesting exhibits. The Club was formed by NewYork and Chicago moneyed folks who wanted a winter retreat. Most had homes in Newport for the summer, Florida wasn’t viable yet (this was the 1880’s), so they bought Jekyll Island for the princely sum of $125,000. They built the club house for something like $65,000, divided the area around the clubhouse into 50 lots, and started building ‘cottages’. Access to the island was by boat; a land route wouldn’t’ be built until the 1950’s.
Most people ate their meals in the club, there was housing for extra servants and chauffeurs, there was lots of island left over for golf and croquet and hunting (it was originally designated a hunting club but hunting decline). By the 1940’s the Club was in dire shape; the depression had hit them hard, Florida was THE place to go, and no one wss interested in putting money into the Club. The State of Georgia took it by eminent domain and made it a state park. They have gradually renovated a few of the ‘cottages’, the Clubhouse, which had a number of additions over the years, is now a hotel run by Radisson, and it is all quite swish. We stop for a drink in the bar and sink into soft leather chairs. Despite the cold there are people (little type people) in the swimming pool.
At night we have a campfire, using up all of our wood we have purchased and scarfed up.
Most people ate their meals in the club, there was housing for extra servants and chauffeurs, there was lots of island left over for golf and croquet and hunting (it was originally designated a hunting club but hunting decline). By the 1940’s the Club was in dire shape; the depression had hit them hard, Florida was THE place to go, and no one wss interested in putting money into the Club. The State of Georgia took it by eminent domain and made it a state park. They have gradually renovated a few of the ‘cottages’, the Clubhouse, which had a number of additions over the years, is now a hotel run by Radisson, and it is all quite swish. We stop for a drink in the bar and sink into soft leather chairs. Despite the cold there are people (little type people) in the swimming pool.
At night we have a campfire, using up all of our wood we have purchased and scarfed up.
Saturday, February 21, 2009
Checking out St Simon's--February 20
39 degrees when we got up this morning. Guess we won’t bike today. We decide to check out St Simon’s Island. That means unhooking everything, but since we are not on blocks it’s not as hard as it sounds. The bridge across the intracoastal waterway is stunning. The suspension cables appear to be half there until you get closer. We try to figure out why this happens; it is the way the sun hits the encased cables.
We go to Fort Frederica, the town created by James Oglethorpe. It was part of the English effort to claim land farther south along the east coast and to protect their Savannah interests. The big conflicts occurred between Fort Frederica and the Castillo in St. Augustine. The remains of the town were excavated in the 40’s, and thousands of artifacts have been unearthed. They do a good job of telling the story of the town. It seems that Oglethorpe ruled with an iron glove; he decided who could do what, where they could live, etc. Needless to say, there were many people who found it untenable and moved out. Then, after Spain and England signed a treaty, the troops were no longer needed there and moved it. It spelbled the death of the town. That and fire, of course. Fire must have been the greatest fear of everyone. Here there were tabby houses, built of a mixture of lime, sand, and shells. But then they covered the outside with wood, so it would look like home. Not a good idea. We meet one of the most enthusiastic park workers we have ever met and she does a good job ‘selling’ the place. We recommend it highly.
Next stop is the Coast Guard Station, which, sadly, doesn’t open until March. Doesn’t say anything about that in the literature we have picked up. So then we go to the lighthouse. First challenge is how to get into the building. Every door we go to, and there are many, sends us to another. It’s $6 each for a small exhibit and the chance to climb 129 steps to the top of the lighthouse. We take it. It says that the lighthouse keeper went up to the top of the lighthouse an hour before dusk and stayed there all through the night. I can’t figure out how he kept warm! Perhaps at some time in the past there was a stove at the top level, but there isn’t room there now.
We tour the downtown and check out the hardware store. It is all pretty quiet. I wonder how much is the recession and how much is just the time of year. On our way back we decide to check out Brunswick. It is now a port for incoming cars from Europe and is relatively busy. We see a pizza place and stop for dinner. It’s very good as is the salad. We recommend the place, too.
Once back on the island we tour the southern fourth just to see what’s there. Not much. We get back to the campground and reinstall ourselves in the dark.
We go to Fort Frederica, the town created by James Oglethorpe. It was part of the English effort to claim land farther south along the east coast and to protect their Savannah interests. The big conflicts occurred between Fort Frederica and the Castillo in St. Augustine. The remains of the town were excavated in the 40’s, and thousands of artifacts have been unearthed. They do a good job of telling the story of the town. It seems that Oglethorpe ruled with an iron glove; he decided who could do what, where they could live, etc. Needless to say, there were many people who found it untenable and moved out. Then, after Spain and England signed a treaty, the troops were no longer needed there and moved it. It spelbled the death of the town. That and fire, of course. Fire must have been the greatest fear of everyone. Here there were tabby houses, built of a mixture of lime, sand, and shells. But then they covered the outside with wood, so it would look like home. Not a good idea. We meet one of the most enthusiastic park workers we have ever met and she does a good job ‘selling’ the place. We recommend it highly.
Next stop is the Coast Guard Station, which, sadly, doesn’t open until March. Doesn’t say anything about that in the literature we have picked up. So then we go to the lighthouse. First challenge is how to get into the building. Every door we go to, and there are many, sends us to another. It’s $6 each for a small exhibit and the chance to climb 129 steps to the top of the lighthouse. We take it. It says that the lighthouse keeper went up to the top of the lighthouse an hour before dusk and stayed there all through the night. I can’t figure out how he kept warm! Perhaps at some time in the past there was a stove at the top level, but there isn’t room there now.
We tour the downtown and check out the hardware store. It is all pretty quiet. I wonder how much is the recession and how much is just the time of year. On our way back we decide to check out Brunswick. It is now a port for incoming cars from Europe and is relatively busy. We see a pizza place and stop for dinner. It’s very good as is the salad. We recommend the place, too.
Once back on the island we tour the southern fourth just to see what’s there. Not much. We get back to the campground and reinstall ourselves in the dark.
Friday, February 20, 2009
Amelia Island Sojourn--February 19
Rain started at about 4 AM and sounded wonderful on the roof. I hear it as I slip in and out of sleep, warm, dry. By the time we really wake up the sky is clearing and we can see patches of blue through the fast moving clouds. It is warmer than we thought it would be, but getting ready to go means cleaning things off. Norb takes this opportunity to clean some of the accumulated grime off the RV, we wipe down the water hose before putting it away, we wipe off the leveling blocks and we are off.
We are going a very short distance today, only about 80 miles to Jekyll Island, GA. This island was once owned by French émigrés who sold it to a consortium of very wealthy men who formed the Jekyll Island Club. It stayed in their hands until Georgia bought it and made the entire island into a state park. The ‘cottages’ of the rich are still here as is the Jekyll Island Club House (now a hotel). Over 60% of the island is wooded. There are bike trails covering the entire island and it is surrounded by water—the Atlantic on one side and the intracoastal waterway on the other. On the east side there is a wide expanse of marsh, the result of a hurricane around the 1900’s.
We find the campground, owned by the state but managed by someone else. We find our campsite, not a pretty as our last two and not nearly as private. It is almost like being in an RV park as far as space is concerned. The woman next door is from northern Wisconsin and she and her husband come down here for 5 ½ months each year. The more permanent residents have a plague hanging in front of their campsites with their name and an outline of their state, clearly provided by the management since they are all alike.
We read the many brochures and booklets we have picked up on our way into Georgia and onto the island and then decide to do rather than just read. We unload the bikes and set off down island. There isn’t much commercial activity on the island—a few restaurants, the Club, a small IGA food store, and a ‘shopping center’ that would pass as a tiny strip mall anyplace else. The bike surfaces are widely varied, from wide concrete to rough path with lots of roots, from former roadway to narrow, bumpy blacktop. It’s too bad that we have left our computers at home because I would really like to know how many miles we have biked so far on this trip. We pick up a pound of Georgia shrimp at the store and head home on the other side of the island.
I play my piano while Norb goes for a walk and checks out the campground. Not a single Navion parked here other then ours. How unusual. In fact, there are few small rigs. Dinner—shrimp, baked potatoes, peas, and cucumbers and tomatoes. I don’t have white vinegar for the cukes and so I use balsamic. It’s good. I have a new recipe. After dinner, laundry and reading.
We are going a very short distance today, only about 80 miles to Jekyll Island, GA. This island was once owned by French émigrés who sold it to a consortium of very wealthy men who formed the Jekyll Island Club. It stayed in their hands until Georgia bought it and made the entire island into a state park. The ‘cottages’ of the rich are still here as is the Jekyll Island Club House (now a hotel). Over 60% of the island is wooded. There are bike trails covering the entire island and it is surrounded by water—the Atlantic on one side and the intracoastal waterway on the other. On the east side there is a wide expanse of marsh, the result of a hurricane around the 1900’s.
We find the campground, owned by the state but managed by someone else. We find our campsite, not a pretty as our last two and not nearly as private. It is almost like being in an RV park as far as space is concerned. The woman next door is from northern Wisconsin and she and her husband come down here for 5 ½ months each year. The more permanent residents have a plague hanging in front of their campsites with their name and an outline of their state, clearly provided by the management since they are all alike.
We read the many brochures and booklets we have picked up on our way into Georgia and onto the island and then decide to do rather than just read. We unload the bikes and set off down island. There isn’t much commercial activity on the island—a few restaurants, the Club, a small IGA food store, and a ‘shopping center’ that would pass as a tiny strip mall anyplace else. The bike surfaces are widely varied, from wide concrete to rough path with lots of roots, from former roadway to narrow, bumpy blacktop. It’s too bad that we have left our computers at home because I would really like to know how many miles we have biked so far on this trip. We pick up a pound of Georgia shrimp at the store and head home on the other side of the island.
I play my piano while Norb goes for a walk and checks out the campground. Not a single Navion parked here other then ours. How unusual. In fact, there are few small rigs. Dinner—shrimp, baked potatoes, peas, and cucumbers and tomatoes. I don’t have white vinegar for the cukes and so I use balsamic. It’s good. I have a new recipe. After dinner, laundry and reading.
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