Missouri Trip, Part 1 (14 July, 15 July)

My family is from the midwest. Mom, Brother and I used to visit  every summer (Dad less frequently), but I haven't been for a visit in at least 12 years. I want to see my grandma again, see her new home in Missouri, visit with my grandpa and any other family that will make the trip to meet us in the middle of the country.

My flight out of Seattle is at 5:00 am, so I have to get up at 2:30 to get to SeaTac on time. Even so early in the morning, Seattle has traffic on the road. Security hasn't even opened yet, and a group of us queue up in a blobby mob. My gate is all the way at the end of the terminals, and I use the moving walkways some of the time. If I step on, I lurch forward and almost fall, so I take them at a sprint to keep forward momentum. I think I look like my kid when he runs bent over with his arms flying behind him. There's a solitary, anachronistic rocking chair near my gate and I claim it, looking like a cranky granny.

I meet up with Mama in the Denver airport, and I love that we pick each other out of a crowd so immediately. I only had a 50 minute layover, so we go right from gate to gate. On this leg of the journey, the ground is a brown patchwork quilt. When we land in Missiouri and they open the plane door we already can feel the oppressive heat and humidity. I haven't breathed this air for over a decade.

A dad and daughter hold hands across the moving walkways

Field quilt

Grandma (mom's mom) and Grandpa (mom's stepdad) pull up in Gram's red minivan. Gram is beautiful as ever, she doesn't look 80 years old to me. I'll compliment her skin later and she'll laugh and say she used to be an avid sunbather so her skin is better than it has any right to be. Mama always gets told she looks much younger than she is, and it's something I hope I inherit. I can see Granpa's older: he's more lined and more stooped, but the lines are from daily work in the sun and I think the stoop might be an affectation so you don't take him as seriously.

We drive from the Springfield, Missiouri airport to their home in the small town of Carthage, Missouri. Sometimes the frontage road that parallels the freeway is part of the original Route 66, and we'll drive sections several times before I leave. I like weird roadside attractions, so we stop at Ozarkland, billed as both a "general store" and the "famous bargain center." Really it's a collection of bad souvenirs and good fudge. It shares a parking lot with a mish-mash of trash and buildings that claim to be the Cimarron Antique Mall & Native American Museum. A skinny, matted Saint Bernard dog wanders up to me in the parking lot. He must be a stray, or else someone dumped him. He's so sweet, and I start to cry because I can't take him home with us.

Ozarkland

There's outright hostile racism here, but it's the causal racism that seems more shocking to me, somehow

Gram has a rangy Aussie shepherd of her own, Lucky, and an assortment of cats. When they moved in, she started to feed the few feral cats that wandered the perimeters of her property. They spay and neuter as they can, but there are to many that wander up from all over the countryside to keep kittens from happening. Right now, a spiderwebed cat family rules the yard and surrounding forest. Three kittens from one of the first litters they had at the property are here: Silver, the indoor female, and BB, the indoor male. Tippy, named for the white tip on his tail, is otherwise physically indistinguishable from his brother, BB. Well, other than his testicles: he hasn't been neutered. Tippy mated with a shy grey cat with a white blaze on her nose. Now she has two or three daughters who look like her, but black instead of grey. From their markings, I'd say Tippy fathered the two recent litters: one with mama grey and one with her (and presumably his) daughter. Tippy is affectionate, and mama grey wants to trust people, but the other cats and kittens are too skittish and scared to be around people. They watch from the porch, though, and will play with fingers through the glass. They wait for Gram to feed them every night. I don't know why, but I'm deeply interested in the cats the whole time I'm here.  

Welcome

King Tippy

Mama grey, with kittens and Tippy watching

Mama grey's mama daughter and kittens

Lucky, who looks like the Human Faced Dogs that used to live next to Selina

I'm sleeping in the basement bedroom, all antiques and no windows. It's pitch-black when you turn out the overhead light, so Gram bought a nightlight at Ozarkland for me. I don't know who thought up this design, but I know several people had to approve it before it went to production and I'm not sure how that happened.

Sock monkey-turned-nightlight

Friday, we get up and go to a cemetery in a nearby county. The Luthers are here: Grandma's mother's parents. Next to them is their infant daughter, Betty Devon. For being an unusual name, we all wonder why Dee Dee (grandma's mom) and her sister Big-Big never mentioned to any of us they had a sister who shared my name. My middle name is for my dad's sister who died as a toddler. I think a lot about these ghosts who share my name.

We drive around the cemetery, which is ringed by an old stone wall. I hop the wall to pee, and realize too late that I'm surrounded by plastic bags full of animal skeletons. Of the skeletons I see, I think they're cats. They're bleached white and picked clean. I'm already unnerved, and a sound from the woods head of me spooks me. I think it's just a bird breaking cover.

It's easy to cross borders here: we're right by Oklahoma and Kansas both. We drive to Galena, Kansas, to an old house that supposedly used to be a bordello, but is now an antique store. A lot of places' claim to fame around here is a notorious history, or that they're haunted, and Bordello Antiques claims both. Some historians have contested the bordello history. All I know is that they had a Victorian settee, chair, and lounge covered with moss-green velvet and only wanted $350 for the whole set. I wonder if I can justify buying it and then renting a U-Haul to bring it back to Seattle.

Welcome to Galena, Kansas

"Stained glass" window in Bordello Antiques

Boarded up old building across from Bordello Antiques

Juvenile

I think we're in Oklahoma, now, near Quapaw tribal land. We're looking for a chat pile, which I always hear as chad pile, left over from the area's mining operations. They dug lead and other minerals out of the ground here, and the left-over gravel has been dumped in huge mounds. In some places the piles look like southwestern rock formations. The chat can be poisonous, but we rock hound anyway. We're looking for selenite, or maybe what we're finding is the harder calcite. Mom points out fossils she and her brothers used to find called crinoids. I thought they were lily fossils, but apparently crinoids are marine creatures that just resemble lilies. I find a few pieces of calcite and some fossils, and Mama finds a big chunk of rock with a dozen fossils and imprints. A blue and black butterfly is so bright that it looks fake.

Small chat pile, about 3 stories high 

Near the top of the pile

From the top looking down into a field

Rock with crystals and fossils (look for the circles and clam shell imprints)

Rock with calcite structure

Blue and black butterfly

Looking in to Oklahoma

A different chat pile, this time looking like a Southwest rock formation

We drive on to Pitcher, Oklahoma. A great-great grandma and grandpa were known as the 'Mom & Dad of Pitcher": she was one of the first women in town, and together they ran a grocery store. They're listed in the Baxter Springs museum's Pitcher section, and Gram donated a photo of them in their mercantile for the collection. We stop at Pitcher's high school mascot, this old concrete gorilla statue. He's been there a long time, and Gram loves him. We pass boarded up buildings and collapsing houses. A huge tornado came through a few years ago and devastated the area, which accounts for some of the ruin. Assholes account for their fair share, too: an old bank-turned-museum burned to the ground thanks to an arsonist. The chimney and original vault remain, but not much else.

Pitcher, Oklahoma

We check out Baxter Springs' museum. It's a labor of love, these small town museums. Most appear to be run by a coalition of strong-willed housewives, all of them hopped up on Starbucks and civic pride. They're doing great things, preserving their community history as best they can on shoe-string budgets. They might not be following museum best practices (acid-free tissue paper is expensive, climate-control display cases are tens of thousands of dollars), but they're preserving and presenting their artifacts, sharing their stories with anyone who stops to look. My favorite thing in the Baxter Springs Museum is a wall in the basement, made with bricks from local foundries stacked so you can see the makers' marks.

Baxter Springs Museum

Makers' marks

Our family's store was the top one: Luther Grocery

We stop at a roadside produce stand on the way home: a folding table and the bed of a pickup truck. Everything but the peaches are local (meaning the peaches are a county or two over, still local in my book). We get corn and tomatoes and a watermelon. 

Being Seattle - Graduation and Cheshiahud Loop

Friday, I graduated from the UW museology graduate program. Two years, hundreds of hours, dozens of friends. An exhibit, internships, volunteering, a thesis on the importance of adult play in museums. I will miss my cohort, of journeying with 32 other smart, talented, driven people toward our goals. I'm happy to inhabit the museum world with them. 

Most of the cohort this spring. Missing a few important faces, though. 

Our graduation ceremony is lovely: intimate, casual, fun. My thesis adviser, Seth, is our class-elected speaker, and gave a moving and hilarious TED SETH Talk. I get to meet the families of some of my friends, and it's so cool to see where they've come from. Michael's dad bonds with Jason over physics. I get to connect Jason with Julian over astronomy. Kate's parents are so warm. Seth's wife is so funny and fierce. Molly's family immediately talks to me like one of their own. I miss my own parents and my brother. I told them not to come to my graduation because I knew the traffic, the crowds, the hectic nature of the U District during graduation weekend would be so much more stressful than I think an hour ceremony is worth. I want them to come back later this summer when we can have more space in the city with fewer people. But still, I'm sad I can't hug them and tell them how much I appreciate the love and support they've given me through my education.  

Husbear and Witten after graduation

Sunday, and Jason left early this morning for a conference in California. It's the first time since I started the program I don't have something I could be doing for school. Even last summer when I didn't have classes, I was still doing thesis work. I could definitely do housework, apply for museum jobs, and a lot more today, but it's nice to not have schoolwork in the back of my mind. Graduating from the museology program is one thing I could not have done in Spokane- there's no similar program near by, no other master's program that interested me the same way. I've now done a thing, start to finish, that I could only have done in Seattle. I've lived here for 4 years this August, but only now I start to feel like I really live here, instead of just hang out. Today I'm going to do another thing I can only do in Seattle: I'm walking the 6 mile Cheshiahud Loop around Lake Union. 

Loop map

Cheshiahud Loop is named for Duwamish chief John Cheshiahud, who was also known as "Lake Union John." When the local tribes were forcibly moved to Port Madison Indian Reservation, Cheshiahud refused to move and stayed on his acre farm. According to his obituary, Cheshiahud stayed put on his land until the death of his beloved wife, when he moved to the rez of his own volition to live with his daughter. An interesting (sad, angering, inspiring, frustrating) read on the history of Lake Union and its native inhabitants is here. The history is confusing, though, and it appears that a man known as Old Tom is just another name Cheshiahud was known by.

Cheshiahud with his second wife, Madeline. 

The Loop celebrates Seattle's connection to its waterfront, connecting urban and industrial areas with over 35 pocket parks, the South Lake Union cultural area, and public art. It spans several distinctive neighborhoods, which is important because the City of Seattle itself says "as a whole, Lake Union remains inaccessible and disconnected as a resource, both for the communities that surround it and the general public." Alright, Seattle: let's make a love connection today. 

I park in the U District near Portage Bay so that I'll start my walk across the University Bridge and down Eastlake. (Apparently Portage Bay the restaurant is a great place for breakfast, but we've never been: the line is always too long.) Before I even start the official Loop, I get sidetracked: Portage Bay Restaurant has a grange store and I have always wanted to stop and see what it's about. Turns out, what it's about is chickens. Adorable, fancy, peeping chickens. They have chicks and laying hens, some rabbits, and fancy pigeons. They also sell all of the supplies you could possibly need (and a few you don't need at all) to have city chickens. My friend Tiffany has the happiest chickens I've ever seen, and I think about her while I look around. 

Goober

Poor peepers were afraid of me

Chicken harness. Yes, please. 

The grange store also sold Cafe Du Monde mix, which took me right back to my 30th birthday celebration in New Orleans. 

I start the Loop heading south across the University Bridge. I drive across this bridge all the time (it's a lot faster to get downtown this way than taking I5) but I've never walked it. It crosses Ship Canal/Portage Bay where Lake Union meets Lake Washington, and spans old buildings, water, houseboats, and shoreline. I like looking down from the bridge to the water, and I worry the whole time I'll drop my phone. Some women stand-up paddle-board underneath me, and then a rowing crew follows.

University Bridge looking south

From water balloons filled with paint, maybe?

Hi, shadow

I5's Ship Canal Bridge in the distance

I want that little house with the plants

Peregrine falcon over the bridge. He called constantly in these high-pitched screeches and was flying in tight circles above me.

I have a general idea of the direction I should head: keep your right hand to the water as you walk and you'll eventually make a circle. But the actual Loop cuts through busy streets and residential roads both, and I want to follow it as much as possible. Cheshiahud Loop signs are plentiful on this side of the lake, but I don't see any on the west side of my walk. I pass a few of the 30+ micro-parks the Loop incorporates. Most are little more than a gravel 10x10 patch with a sign and maybe a bench or two. A few are decorated with ceramic tiles made by children and artists. I like that they're here, I like that they give people a place (an excuse? the permission?) to stop and admire their surroundings. I don't think most of them are well executed, but I'm still grateful we have the spaces. 

I pass a huge community garden and want to go in and look around so badly, but there's a dude acting weird by the gate so I don't go in. Someone has planted the most beautiful roses and they smell heavenly. I see crops and flowers, garden art and honeybees. The apartments on the hill above have a beautiful view of the gardens and Lake Union. There's a sign for the Eastlake P-Patch's annual Eastlake Summer Solstice Celebration and I plan to attend. Apparently part of the festivities includes slug races. 

Sneaky Loop sign

Community garden and apartments

These roses smelled amazing

Garden gate and sign

Visitor book entry

I'm using an app to track my miles and time, and I've gone 2 miles in 40 minutes. That time isn't winning any prizes, and I'm torn between wanting to walk quicker for my ego and walk slower for my enjoyment. And my lungs. I have to wind out of the residential when it dead-ends into the water, and walk up a steep hill to a main road. Two blocks on that and then I can dip back down into the neighborhood by the water. This part of Eastlake is interesting: houseboats and apartments are making way for boat sale and repair businesses and old buildings. At the third mile the water opens up more and I'm officially in South Lake Union. (Here's a funny aside: South Lake Union got a streetcar, but residents called it the trolley. Which means it was the S.L.U.T., which some people found hilarious and others found upsetting. You can guess which camp I'm in.) 

Pretty dead end

Old building on the water with snag and horsetail fern

Looking across Lake Union to Westlake and (I think) Queen Anne

Canada goose butt

I cross docks and piers for SLU businesses and restaurants and find out that one of our favorite Seattle restaurants has a SLU location with a gorgeous view. I'm not sure if the Loop is supposed to take me on the docks that go down to the Center for Wooden Boats outside of MOHAI, but I go that way anyway. I find out about Sunday Public Sail, an event they've done every Sunday for 25 years where they take the public out on a variety of historic boats for free. It's so cool to hear the skippers talk with such enthusiasm about these boats. I don't care that much about boats, but hearing their passion makes me excited anyway. I dodge a lot of strollers. I overhear one small girl say to her family "If you're not walking now then I'm going to keep walking without you."  

Little wooden boat

Sailboats

Space Needle from MOHAI's grounds

Great blue heron, turtle, and ducks

Goose feathers

The residential plots of Eastlake are replaced with businesses in Westlake. Boats for sale, boats for rent, things for your boat, and restaurants for boaters. There's a place called 'Discount Divers' and I think that if I'm going to splurge on anything, it will probably be something that keeps me alive underwater. I pass a Chinese restaurant with a huge, flat facade. I don't really like Chinese food, but I can see through the doors that the place has a great view and think we should try the place sometime. 

I stupidly didn't bring water with me because I didn't want to carry a bottle for six miles, so I stop in to a dockside convenience store and pay way too much for a small bottle. I have a master's degree now, and I should know a lot of things. But I'm still an idiot in a lot of ways, and didn't bring water, a sports bra, chapstick, or sunglasses for my walk. I made sure to wear my fanny-pack with pride, at least. I'm somewhere between miles four and five, and this is the first time I think "I should have stayed home." It's such an easy walk, and the weather is lovely. I'm just not used to walking this much at once, and my hips hurt and my feet are sore. There are a few private lots mixed in with the businesses: funky little wooden staircases that lead down to shared docks and floating houses. I bet it's fun to live on a boathouse. I see a groovy little one that's painted hot pink, and I'm pretty sure I know which mailbox belongs to it. 

New favorite mailbox

I see traffic stretched up ahead, and know I must be close to the big, blue Fremont Bridge. According to Wikipedia, it's one of the busiest bascule bridges in the world, and possibly the most frequently opened drawbridge in the US. Apparently the blue and orange paint job was chosen by voters at a 1985 street fair. Must have been Broncos fans. I really like poking around Fremont for shopping and gawking, but I'm trying to improve my pace even as I'm tiring out, so I keep walking. 

Welcome to Fremont, Center of the Universe - please turn watch ahead 5 minutes

Aurora Bridge over Lake Union. The bridge has a terrible history of accidents and suicides. 

I pass more businesses and apartments. There's a Turkish restaurant with a really fun-looking patio and a brewery with long community-dining tables outside and dozens of parked bikes. I walk past a coffee shop that is built into this street's weird topography: the sidewalk out front is much lower than the level of the sidewalk at the back, so I walk past the back and look down and in through the windows to the cooks.

I make it to Gas Works Park just about the time I am all funned out and want to be done walking. I consider just walking past it instead of through it, but that seems like taking a shortcut 22 miles into a marathon. (My friends who run marathons are rolling their eyes at me comparing my 6 mile walk with their 26 mile race but I don't care because I have Sims that are maxed out on the fitness skill, so...) I climb up the big hill in the middle and take exactly one photo when my phone dies at 40% battery. I should be fine, I know the way back to my car from here, but I'm still anxious without the map. And I'm frustrated that my phone wont record my distance and speed for the last leg, but that's probably better for my ego anyway. I'm dragging. Plus, the view is spectacular and I was hoping to take some city shots.

Bottom of the hill

Gas Works and city

I make it through the park and back to a trail, but at this point the Loop and Burke-Gilman Trail have smashed themselves together and I don't know which I'm technically on. Bicyclists drive really fast through here, and I stick as close to the shoulder as I can so I don't get run over. Close to the University Bridge again, and wild roses and raspberry bushes grow in thick, sharp tangles right up next to the path. I make a note to come back here in a few weeks and pick as many berries as I can. Someone has left a gorgeous cane-bottomed rocking chair on the side of the road. It's weathered and the caning is a little torn, and I instantly want to take it home and try to refinish it. I see a few pieces like this every month in Seattle: great vintage furniture placed curbside for passersby or the elements to take. I wish I had a truck, and storage space at home, for all the treasures I find. 

Back where I started, and I walk under I5's Ship Canal Bridge, the freeway impossibly high above me. It's so loud, even hundreds of feet below the road. Freeway noise in Spokane never deafened like this, and I wonder how people live right here with the constant roar. Taggers have somehow climbed up to the trestles at least five stories above the ground to spray graffiti up there. The climb would be terrifying, but I bet the view is beautiful.