TUESDAY, DECEMBER 26, 2000 (82 miles)
Long Beach, Mississippi to New Orleans, Louisiana
We again had the continental breakfast at the hotel, then packed our bags and checked out. Our first stop of the day was at Beauvoir, the home of Confederate President Jefferson Davis. I had been here before, but Margaret wanted to see the place. I was impressed at how much they had added. There's a whole new Jefferson David Library and Museum in an adjacent complex.
While waiting in line I read a brochure asking people to preserve the Mississippi state flag. The banner, which features the confederate battle flag as part of its design, has been the subject of controversy for nearly a decade. Mississippi is nearly half black, and many blacks (as well as politically-correct whites) are offended by the racist symbolism of the flag. Other people, both black and white, find the flag a symbol of tradition, rather than of segregation. When I was in college here they were having a statewide contest to design a new flag. Apparently they've been debating whether to change it ever since. This winter they would have a statewide referendum on whether to adopt the new flag. In the end, the measure failed narrowly. A slim majority of blacks voted for change, and a slim majority of blacks voted against it. That means the whole state-black and white-was very divided on the issue. Majority ruled, though, and today Mississippi is the only state that continues to have Confederate symbolism on its flag. Some groups have threatened to boycott the state because of that. It will be interesting to see if economic pressure leads to a future change.
I've described the palatial mansion at Beauvoir before, so I'll skip the details now. Probably the most interesting feature we saw today was how the place was decorated for the holidays. They attempted to re-create typical decorations from the mid 1800s, which mostly consisted of evergreen garlands highlighted by whole fresh fruits. The mantels were covered with oranges, lemons, and pineapples, where we'd likely put holly or poinsettias up north. It was different, and I must say it really didn't look all that Christmasy to me, but it was attractive and interesting to see.
Our next stop after Beauvoir was another Mississippi institution, Hudson's. While this chain store has improved the exteriors of their stores, inside they're still the salvage centers they've always been. They still buy big lots from insurance companies salvaging goods damaged by fire and flood in stores around the country, and then unload them dirt cheap all over Mississippi. You never know what you're going to find at Hudson's. Today I concentrated on the seasonal close-outs. I found some of the nicest gift wrap I've ever seen, far nicer than what I got at Marshall Field's in Chicago. I also bought some lovely Christmas candles and some wooden fruit to replicate the fruit ornaments we saw at Beauvoir.
Next up we went to the new outlet mall at the junction of I-10 and US 49. It's quite a place. When I was in school here, the big outlet mall was in Slidell, Louisiana (about 50 miles west of here). I went there once and was overwhelmed by the size of the place, if a bit underwhelmed by the prices-which were not generally great bargains. The outlet mall in Williamsburg, Iowa, is similar. The Gulfport mall dwarfs both of those. It has a sea of parking all around, but the mall itself is mostly a pedestrian area-like a mall with outdoor hallways. Here again, the prices didn't strike me as anything special, but you could certainly buy anything your heart desired. I myself bought nothing at all, but Margaret bought the SAS shoes she exclusively wears. She found exactly what she wanted and quickly snapped them up.
We headed west on I-10, and before long we reached the Louisiana border. Just a bit further we reached the seven-mile bridge and crossed Lake Ponchatrain into the city of New Orleans. Traffic was heavy, but the roads were familiar, and before long we made it to our hotel.
We were staying at the Maison St. Charles, which is a Quality Inn located in a bunch of restored old apartment blocks right on St. Charles Avenue near Lee Circle, just west of downtown. The hotel itself was rather interesting. It featured a group of brick and stucco buildings arranged around an informal courtyard. The building that faced the street was probably the smallest and least important. It featured the check-in desk, a very small lobby, and a small restaurant. It was located in the middle of a block, and to enter the hotel complex, you drove through an opening in the building-as if you were turning into a parking ramp. We parked briefly in the entryway while we checked in and then pulled ahead into the courtyard, where a parking valet met us. He drove the car about 40 feet to a small permanently locked lot located behind a Wendy's next door to the hotel.
The courtyard of the hotel was full of trees. Some were green, while others had bare branches. Several of them were decorated (whether permanently or just for Christmas I don't know) with strings of Mardi Gras beads. There were also some formal fountains and benches scattered around.
Along each side of the courtyard were buildings that held the main rooms of the hotel. The rooms themselves looked like-well-hotel rooms, but overall the hotel exuded the impression of old-time elegance. At that, it was still one of the cheapest places we could stay in New Orleans. That may be because while St. Charles itself is an elegant address, the hotel is right on the border of several questionable neighborhoods-not a place I'd want to go walking around at night. (I once saw an episode of Cops where that Wendy's next door was featured prominently.) By day, though, the neighborhood was fine, and with the St. Charles streetcar just steps from the entrance, we wouldn't have to worry much-even late at night. We were paying about $60/night, which is downright cheap for a big city. Almost everything else close-in cost over $80.
After checking in and resting up just a bit, we set out to explore the city. The historic St. Charles streetcar stopped right in front of the hotel, so we made our way to the median of the boulevard to wait for a trolley. Just watching it come was a bit of a treat. The New Orleans RTD had decorated the cars for Christmas by stringing evergreen garlands (with hidden lights that lit up at night) and hanging big red bows from the roofs. That's something else you just couldn't get away with in a northern climate. Here, though, they made delightful moving decorations.
Our got off the streetcar at the Audubon Park, about 15 - 20 minutes from our hotel. The park was packed with youngsters. The gift of the year seemed to have been miniature scooters, and every little kid was trying one out in the park this afternoon. Once again I marveled at the weather; it's just hard to conceive of playing in a park (other than having a snowball fight) on the day after Christmas. The park was like a rainforest with its lush greenery, though, and with the thermometer approaching 70, it was certainly no problem for the kids to be in shorts on their scooters.
We made our way through the park to the Audubon Zoo. I've been here probably a dozen times now, and it never fails to fascinate me. It's certainly the finest zoo I've ever been to (much nicer than the Minnesota Zoo or the Bookfield Zoo in Chicago), and it has to be one of the best in the country-if not the world. New Orleans has a climate where the animals can stay outside year-round. The zoo was actually nicer in winter, because with the temperatures a bit cooler, more of the animals were out in the open, frolicking in front of passersby.
After seeing the zoo, we attempted to have dinner at the hotel restaurant. I say attempted, because we never did figure out how to eat at the place. We couldn't figure out if it was supposed to be a buffet, or if there was table service. They had a counter set up like a buffet, but there was nobody attending it. There was also no hostess or maitre d' to seat us; nor did there appear to be any waiters (although there were customers). Eventually we just gave up and went elsewhere; it's not as if there aren't hundreds of good places to eat in New Orleans.
We settled on what was basically a bar on the corner just north of our hotel. I don't remember the name of the place, but I do remember the atmosphere. The place was crawling with police officers. It seemed that all of New Orleans' finest were "code seven" here tonight. Some of the cops came in groups, while others were at tables for one. The ate fairly quickly, so the crowd kept changing. The whole time we were there, though, we were never without an officer in the place.
Most of the cops were having red beans and rice, a traditional New Orleans dish. It's exactly what it says-a heap of white rice topped with kidney beans in a powerful Tabasco-laced sauce. They served that every Monday at the USM dining hall, and I had far more than my fill of it in grad school. Margaret and I instead opted for a more northerly dinner-steak and potatoes.
We relaxed a bit after dinner and then set off again in the streetcar. This time we headed back down St. Charles, past all the mansions that line that famous street. Almost all of them were elaborately decorated for the holidays-with strings of lights outlining the windows, porches, and rooflines, and elegant trees in the doorways. Several places decorations hanging from the live oaks that we had seen in Pass Christian earlier. The streetcar heads down the avenue at a leisurely rate, and we were able to see get a good close-up view of many of the decorations. It was a lovely little outing.
Once we were back at the hotel, I went next door to Wendy's and bought a bowl of chili. Fortunately the trip was uneventful; nothing of interest for Cops this evening. We watched the TV news back at the hotel, much of which centered on a huge ice storm in Arkansas. Thousands of vehicles were stranded on the interstates there, and the whole state seemed to have shut down. We were certainly fortunate to have gotten south when we did-not a few days later.
In the local weather, the meteorologist was complaining about a cold and rainy forecast. Cold to him meant temperatures in the 40s and 50s, which would make for a chilly rain. The very concept of rain in late December was amazing though, after coming from drifted snow.
WEDNESDAY, DECEMBER 27, 2000
New Orleans, Louisiana
Today was our day for exploring New Orleans. Since both Margaret and I had been her before (she once, me countless times), there was nothing that was urgent to see. It was fun to just walk around the city, though, and especially to see it all decked out for the holidays.
We first took the streetcar to the Garden District, just a bit further from downtown than our hotel. This neighborhood, which was home to the English (as opposed to the French and Spanish) and other Protestants in Colonial times, features enormous Victorian mansions set on large (by urban standards) lawns. While I doubt I could afford a square foot of space in the neighborhood, real people do appear to live here. It was interesting to see children's playthings scattered on the back steps of these elegant homes.
In the heart of the Garden District is the Lafayette Cemetery. New Orleans' cemeteries are among those "must see" attractions, but anytime I was here before, the gates were locked up tight. I admired all the tombs through the fences, but I always wondered what they were like up close. This morning, by some odd twist of fate, the Lafayette Cemetery was open. Maintenance workers were all around-which was probably why the gates were unlocked-but whatever the reason, it allowed us to sneak in and catch a close-up glimpse of things. They're nothing especially beautiful (and unlike in Boston, I can't claim to be related to anyone who's buried here), but they were fascinating to see.
The old New Orleans cemeteries are famous for interring bones and ashes in above-ground tombs-some individual, some familial, and some essentially communal. The tour books will tell you that this is because of the low water table in the area (which is, in fact below sea level). That's not true; if you go out to the suburbs (which have equally low water tables), you'll see the same underground graves and private markers you'd find in the high desert. What's more, upstream in northern Louisiana (where the ground is higher) you'll find cemeteries similar to the historic New Orleans resting places. What's really true is that the early Spanish and French settlers established the same kind of cemeteries they had in their homelands. I saw almost the same thing in southern Spain, and it makes sense that colonists will recreate what was familiar in their homeland.
We took the streetcar downtown to the French Quarter and spent a long time just walking around. The French Quarter was originally built by the Spanish (who most people don't realize were the first settlers here), and its cramped streets re-create an old Iberian city just as the Garden District attempts to re-create English country estates. A surprising number of people live here, though you don't see the children's toys like you do in the Garden District; that's because the French Quarter's residents tend to be either young professional couples or gay people, and neither of those groups tends to be known for having lots of children.
The whole French Quarter was decked out for the holidays. Those famous wrought iron balconies were all draped with greenery, and lights and decorations hung in the windows of both shops and homes. Even seedy Bourbon Street was looking fittingly festive. The crowds were much less than in summer, and it was just very pleasant to stroll around the city.
We attempted to have breakfast at the famous Café du Monde in the French Market on Jackson Square. Unfortunately the place was packed. While the tourists were not out in as much force as summer, many of the locals were still off work for the holidays, and they all seemed to be lounging about at Café du Monde. Rain was starting to drip when we reached the café, and we really didn't feel like getting soaked while we waited for a table, so we caught the Riverfront streetcar and headed north to the Riverwalk Mall.
The St. Charles Streetcar is a National Historic Landmark, and it really is fun to ride. The ancient cars creak and grind as they rattle past some of the most beautiful scenery in the city. It's fun, but it's also a vital form of public transportation. The cars are always crowded with people going to and from work. The Riverfront Streetcar, by contrast, is basically a tourist attraction. Its cars might be historic, but they come across as new cars that were built to look old. The cars are all handicap-equipped, and the wheelchair equipment alone tends to spoil the historic effect (not that I object to having it, mind you). The line really doesn't go anywhere locals would want to go (it connects a variety of tourist destinations along the waterfront), so the only people on board are tourists-not exactly a way to absorb the local color. There really isn't much of a view on the Riverfront Streetcar-mostly the side of the enormous levee-but it served one important purpose by keeping us dry as the rain started to pour.
We exited at Julia Street and made our way up a broken escalator to the mall. The Riverwalk Mall is an enclosed shopping center that encompasses about six blocks of former warehouses along the Mississippi just upstream from the French Quarter. It's basically one big six-block long hallway, but the different buildings are built on different levels, so each block you have a series of escalators and elevators to shift from one to another. You might recall that a few years back the mall was hit by a passing barge and damaged severely. It's back, and we enjoyed strolling through it today.
We stopped at a few shops, mostly buying the traditional foods (boxed pralines and the like) that tourists to New Orleans always carry home. Our main stop, though, was the mall outlet of Café du Monde. Here we enjoyed steaming cups of chicory coffee, fresh-squeezed orange juice, and crispy beignets-the little pillows of fried dough choked with powdered sugar for which New Orleans is famous.
The rain let up while we were in the mall, so we walked back through downtown. We passed what is now the city's largest tourist attraction, the massive and fortress-like Harrah's Casino. We then admired the decorations on Canal Street-wires strung with lights and shaped to resemble various jazz instruments. Next we went shopping at the huge book and record stores on St. Peter Street. After that we were loaded down, so we returned to the hotel to dump our purchases before setting out for lunch.
We took another extensive walk around the French Quarter, mostly admiring the galleries on Royal Street. Then we headed to a familiar destination for lunch. That destination was the Royal Café, which has to be just about the best restaurant I have ever eaten in. The place was crowded, and we had to wait about 15 minutes for a table. When I've dined here before, it has mostly been on their open-air balcony. That seemed a bit questionable, given the weather. It was not particularly cold, but the rain would definitely keep us indoors. Once before I had been in the formal first-floor dining room. This time, though, it was on the less formal, but equally nice, second floor. We had delightful meals, topped off by exquisite desserts and good wine-a most enjoyable lunch.
The place was quite crowded, and while we were there people were moving about and jostling among the seats. At one point a book that was resting on the mantel fell over with a loud bang, startling the couple at the table below it. The waiter proceeded to tell us about a ghost that is said to haunt the building where the café is located, and he attributed the falling book to her. While I don't know that I believed him, it certainly was entertaining.
We made our way back to the hotel, totally bloated from our enormous meal. Indeed, we'd have nothing but crackers and cheese for the rest of the day. We went back downtown at night, mostly to see what the French Quarter looked like lit up. Most of it really wasn't all that impressive; honestly, it looked at least as nice by day. Probably most interesting was the central police precinct, which was completely decked out in lights. We did a bit of shopping and then made it back to the hotel one last time.
The big story on the news today was preparations for the New Year. A year ago everyone was predicting the world would end. Apparently it's a tradition in the poorer neighborhoods of New Orleans to celebrate the New Year by shooting off guns straight up into the air. Unfortunately, what goes up must come down, and last year a young girl was injured when a celebratory bullet fell from the sky and hit her. Authorities were urging people both to refrain from celebrating with guns and to keep their children inside on New Year's Eve. It's sad that people would even think of gunfire as a means of celebration, but until we get rid of those guns it's sure to continue to be a problem.
THURSDAY, DECEMBER 28, 2000 (574 miles)
New Orleans, Louisiana to Jackson, Tennessee
We dawdled around this morning, mostly waiting for rush hour to get over. Eventually we checked out, retrieved the car from the valet, and made our way down St. Charles back to the interstate. We headed west and then north from New Orleans on interstates 10 and 55. The two highways are elevated as bridges that run for more than thirty miles across the swamp. They interchange in a spectacular maze of concrete. I pity the poor people who had to go out into the swamp to build them, but the highways are certainly a marvel of engineering.
We continued north to the Mississippi border and stopped briefly in the town of Brookhaven for gas. I bought a local paper here, and we were shocked by how many serious crimes they had in a town no larger than Algona. The rain came harder and harder as we headed north toward Jackson. Margaret did not care for the idea of negotiating urban interstates in a thunderstorm, so at Byram we exited and followed county roads east to the suburb of Florence. By then the rain was less, so we re-joined the interstate and headed up the east side of Jackson.
Just north of the city we picked up the Natchez Trace Parkway, the National Park Service road that parallels the first trade route from Nashville to New Orleans. It's a delightful drive through the thick woods, and today's trip was especially nice.
So far on this trip we had experienced weather and scenery that ranged from the dead of winter to a fresh spring day to even early summer. It probably shouldn't have been a great surprise, then, to see beautiful autumn foliage as we drove along this afternoon. That is exactly what we saw, though-reds and golds and browns that reminded me of an October weekend in Iowa. The cold rain was like October, too-much more like fall than winter.
What was not fall-like was the flooding we saw all along the Natchez Trace. There was water everywhere, often right up to the edge of the road. We stopped at a pull-off that featured a short nature hike, but we were only able to go about half way before the trail was knee-deep in water.
We exited the parkway at Okolona, a little ways south of Tupelo. We drove north on US 45 to Verona, where we stopped briefly at a Hardees. They were advertising Philly cheesesteak sandwiches. Since I had enjoyed the real thing in the City of Brotherly Love last summer, I figured I would try the Hardees version of a cheesesteak. Trust me on this one: don't buy one. The Hardees sandwich consisted of a few bits of absolutely flavorless mystery meat, a couple of overcooked green pepper slices and a bit of Monterrey Jack cheese, all slathered onto a hotdog bun. While I was hungry, I was barely able to finish it.
We continued on to Tupelo, and then northward to Corinth, the northeasternmost town of any size in Mississippi. We stopped for gas there , and above the canopy at the gas station was a swarm of birds that looked like they belonged in that old Hitchcock thriller. Then we continued on into Tennessee. Highway 45 was a strange road that kept alternating between limited access and city street. Almost all of Tennessee is developed-it might as well be one continuous city-and as it grew darker and darker it made for rather annoying driving.
Eventually we made it to Jackson, Tennessee, our destination for the night. We found the Comfort Inn (a huge convention complex) and proceeded to check in. My reservation was for a king suite. I had once before stayed in a room with that description, and it featured a king bed, plus a sofa that made into a second bed. When we found our room, it was clear this was not quite the same thing. Basically it was nothing more than a standard motel room with a king bed. What made it a "suite" was partial divider wall that held a microwave and refrigerator. I may love my sister, but I rally didn't care to share a bed with her, so I went back to the office to switch rooms. The man at the desk was confused, since I was asking for what was apparently considered a lesser-quality room, but he obliged and made the switch to a double.
We had dinner a Waffle House that was right next door to the motel. We could tell that we were further north when we stepped outside. It certainly wasn't cold, but it was much nippier than what we were used to. It probably was below freezing, and while the parkas that the locals were wearing were probably unnecessary, a good heavy jacket was useful. The Waffle House itself didn't seem to know what to make of the weather. Apparently their heat has two settings: on and off. The building must have no insulation, because whenever they turned the heat off it was icy, and when they turned it back on it was stifling.
After dinner we spent quite a bit of time watching the Weather Channel on TV. A big storm was over the Midwest, and it looked as if it might be a problem for us. Our original plans had called for heading north to Paducah, Kentucky, then straight across Illinois to Rockford. Every forecast showed that central Illinois would get the brunt of the storm, so we decided that it was probably wise to change our plans. We opted instead for a more westerly route. I got on the phone and changed our hotel reservations before we headed off to bed.
FRIDAY, DECEMBER 29, 2000 (464 miles)
Jackson, TN to Mt. Pleasant, IA
We had a very nice breakfast at the hotel and then headed out. We drove northwest to Dyersburg and then crossed the Mississippi just south of Hayti, the town we had stayed in on the way down. We stopped at a rest area north of there (probably the twin of the empty rest area where we stopped on the 23rd. As we left the rest area, Margaret noticed that the "service engine" light on her dashboard was glowing. The car seemed to be running fine, but it was worrisome to be driving with the light on.
We weren't sure if the light might indicate something serious or something that could wait, and Margaret wanted to have a mechanic look at things before we went on. Unfortunately her car, a Suburu, is hardly the model of choice in rural Missouri. However, we did stop at the next real town-Perryville-and there we found a Ford dealer where we stopped for a while.
I have a general distrust of car dealers and mechanics. I know virtually nothing about cars, and I always tend to have the feeling I'm being ripped off by those that do. It certainly didn't help that whenever I took my Omni or Dodge into the local Chrysler dealer for an oil change, they always found something else that needed to be fixed. If even once they had just changed the oil, I'd have been more willing to trust them, but every single time they found some "problem". More recently, I've had the staff at Jiffy Lube tell me my fuel injection system needed an overhaul when the car doesn't even have fuel injection-it has a traditional carburetor. Coming from that background, I was picturing hundreds of dollars and hours or even days of delays while the Perryville Ford dealer padded his pockets.
Margaret assured me that all her experiences with mechanics had been positive. She attributed some of this to the flip side of sexism. As a "weak little girl", she was not expected to know anything about cars, and the mechanics saw it as their job to look out for her. As a man, I was expected to be knowledgeable on the subject, so for me it was "buyer beware". Sure enough, she was right. The mechanic politely listened to her tale and then reassured her that the "service engine" light (which is always amber, rather than red) is associated with the emissions control system, rather than anything vital to the engine's operation. We'd probably have reduced fuel economy and might be polluting the air more than we should, but it should be perfectly safe to drive home. He carefully phrased everything in "cover your behind" language, but that was the gist of the message. There was no charge for his "expert" opinion, and in just a few minutes we were on our way again.
We hit snow just south of St. Louis. Traffic was heavy around the city, and with the weather it was not a nice drive. We made it past there, though, and eventually stopped for lunch at a Dairy Queen in the western suburbs. Then we re-traced our steps northward to Hannibal. It was again very snowy, but in Missouri they had salted the roads so at worst we were driving through slush.
We bought gas in St. Francisville, just south of the Iowa border. There I bought the Keokuk Daily Gate City and got a glimpse of what had been going on in the Hawkeye state. We crossed the bridge into Iowa, and immediately the roads got much worse. Unlike Missouri, Iowa almost never uses road salt. I'm sure that's better for the environment (although it's kind of odd thinking of the land of hog confinements caring about a little road salt), but it means the snow and ice tend to build up on the roads and make things very slippery. We drove slowly and carefully all the way north to Mt. Pleasant.
Our destination tonight was indeed my old hometown, although all we saw of it was the strip along Highway 218 that didn't even exist when I lived there. We stopped at the Mt. Pleasant Super 8, a representative member of a very generic chain. Checking in at the Super 8 was quite an experience. In front of me in line were two construction workers from Oklahoma who were planning on staying there for a minimum of three months. I never think of people living in motels, but I suppose that's where construction people would have to live. They got no special rate for an extended stay, but they did get more than the normal amount of paperwork. The men paid for their rooms separately. One of them put the entire charge on a credit card. The other tried to, but when they tried to put through three months of lodging (which would total over $3,700), his card was declined. The clerk tried to run the charge for a lesser amount, but the charge was still declined. They tried to put it on the other man's credit card, but paying for his own three-month room had maxed out his card, too. Eventually the woman demanded cash-at least for one night's stay until things could be cleared up. The man did better than that. He whipped out his wallet and paid for a full week's lodging with $300 in twenty-dollar bills. Finally they settled their business, and I was able to check in myself.
I suppose there must be a lot of construction workers in Mt. Pleasant, because there certainly is a lot of construction. They are building two major highways that intersect here, and there are also a lot of building projects. I hate to think of doing that work in the middle of snow and ice, but apparently they do.
After we settled in to our last motel of the trip we went down the strip to the Sirloin Stockade. It looked like a nice family restaurant, but really seemed overpriced and low on quality. I don't plan to rush back-to this or any other location. After dinner we watched the storm progress on TV and went to bed.
SATURDAY, DECEMBER 30, 2000 (301 miles)
Mt. Pleasant, Iowa to Algona, Iowa
We left Mt. Pleasant quite early and headed up highway 218 to Iowa City. The trip was very icy, and north of Iowa City the whole freeway was littered with cars and even semis in the ditch. We stopped at the rest area south of Cedar Rapids and heard horror stories from our fellow travelers about the ice-packed conditions on I-80. They felt 380 was better, but we all knew it wasn't good. Again we avoided the bridge over Cedar Rapids and took the business route through town. By the time we got to Urbana the weather had improved, and we moved pretty well the rest of the morning. We bought gas in Calmar, and then stopped briefly at a drugstore in Decorah-where Margaret had a prescription refilled and I picked up a new artificial Christmas tree at their clearance sale.
The road out to Margaret's was absolutely dreadful. Margaret's home is certainly beautiful, but in winter I'm definitely glad I don't live there. The paved road was really worse than the gravel. It was a sheet of ice, and with no guardrails, I always had the feeling we were going to plunge off the cliff.
We managed to get back to Margaret's safely, and I quickly switched my luggage over to my car. I wanted to get on the road quickly and try to get home before dark. Because of the horrid road in, I took the back way out of Margaret's place, going down to highway 9. At least for timid old me, that was definitely the route of choice. The gravel is straighter than the other part, and highway 9 was perfectly clear.
I headed back home, stopping only briefly in Charles City for a bite of lunch. Back home I settled in, turned up the heat in my Arctic apartment, and settled in. Being welcomed back to Iowa by the snow and cold made me think of a children's book that I hadn't thought of in years. I hauled out my copy of Laura Ingalls Wilder's The Long Winter, where she tells about weathering storm after storm on the Dakota plains. I read that book cover to cover this evening, and I must say it was a fitting time to do so. While we may not have had quite the storms they had in DeSmet 113 years ago, this winter was certainly similar to that one. It started with a long, warm fall, but then got cold fast-with storm after storm after storm. This was indeed a long, hard winter in the Midwest, and I'm certainly glad that I was able to relieve my cabin fever for just a little while with this holiday jaunt down to Dixie.
Links to other sites on the Web
RETURN
(Original Travelogues)
RETURN (Fortune City Travelogue Page)
HOME
) 2001 [email protected]
The background music on this page is a jazz version of "Santa Claus is Coming to Town", which seems fitting for New Orleans at Christmas.