Purple Mountain Culture Shock

The Front Range of the Colorado Rockies with the town of Cripple Creek in the foreground

When I travel, I like to try to get a good feel for the people of the area, their culture and their history.  I like to compare the environment, the weather, the terrain, what makes an area unique. Taking a trip to the arid southwest of our beautiful country presented a variety of features in each of the above categories and created in me a culture shock.

Mary and I set out to visit the northern part of New Mexico and the east central portion of Colorado.  But to get there and back, we would also explore a part of Texas that neither of us had ever seen and our return would take us into Kansas and Oklahoma, again states we had never visited.

To go from a heavily forested area like our home in Alabama to the flat lands of the southwest inspired a certain awe in me.  In the west, one can visit an area where a tree can become a landmark, as in travel directions:  "Go down the road until you see the tree and turn right at the next road.  If you get to the second tree, you've gone too far!"

New Mexico

One also gets to experience and see geological features and use the terms learned in elementary school, things like mesa, butte, arroyo (although I think I learned that term reading Louis L'Amour novels),  high plains and prairies.  We don't have many of those items in Alabama!

One also learns that although it's the end of May and temps in the southeast are soaring above 90 every day, the middle of Colorado hasn't gotten the message with temps staying in the 40's with record snow fall still occurring in the high mountain peaks.

Pike's Peak and the Cog Railroad

Determining the culture of an area can be difficult when the area has had so many strong influences.   Areas like Santa Fe have the cultures of the Native American tribes that were in the area  as the country was being explored and settled.  Add to that the Spanish/Mexican influence of the first European settlers which also brought the heavy influence of the Roman Catholic Church.  The influence of the military services is readily evident in and around Colorado Springs.

Then add the affects of the environment.

Getting on a state highway and seeing a sign that warns that there are "No Automobile Services for the next 95 Miles" adds to the culture shock!  And following that road for well over 100 miles with only one curve, the road's path otherwise straight as an arrow's flight.

Most of the areas of north Texas, Colorado, Kansas and Oklahoma that we traveled through are areas of huge farms with the fields stretching as far as the eye can see.  It made me wonder about the logistics of planting, feeding then harvesting those fields.  I can only imagine the equipment and people that it takes to make it all happen.

And it reminds me of the story of the Texas rancher who dropped by the feed store and was on the porch chatting with other ranchers and farmers.  Someone asked him how big his spread was.  He replied that he had a large spread, his ranch was so big that if he got in his truck at daybreak and drove until sunset, he still couldn't reach the other side.  A farmer, a wizened older man, sitting in a rocking chair, whittling on a stick, said, "Yup, I once had a truck like that!"

Near Kit Carson, Colorado

I grew up in an era when the "western"  was a staple of movies and television, where places like Dodge City, Boot Hill, the Santa Fe and Chisholm Trails were common settings for action and adventure.  For me to visit those places on this trip invoked a lot memories.  I almost expected to see the guys who wore the white hats ride out of the heat haze, just in time save the day!

Then there are the large feed lots where cattle are gathered while they wait to be turned into rib eyes and hamburger meat.  I've visited barn yards and cow pastures and experienced the fragrances they provide but that is nothing to compare  to a feed lot where there are thousands of cows gathered in a relatively small area.  These lots aren't necessarily isolated either with most on the edges of the towns and cities.  I wondered how people could live with that smell permeating everything until I realized that to them, it's the smell of money!

It's easy for us in our daily lives to get a sense of having experienced almost everything and knowing about everyplace until we get outside the confines of our usual world.  For me, a visit to the "big sky" part of our country was very humbling.  To realize that this country and our earth is so vast makes me feel so tiny and insignificant.

Throughout the trip, I was reminded of the words of the song "America the Beautiful" with references to "spacious skies", "purple mountains" and "amber waves of grain,"  While some would decry miles of highway with little to see but open fields as ugly and boring, I see beauty.  When I see forests, I see beauty, when I see no trees, I see a different beauty.

My wanderlust and quest to see the beauty and bounty our country has to offer was not sated with this trip but was whetted.  I can't wait to see more!

Legend Of The Loretto Chapel

In beautiful Santa Fe, New Mexico, there is a Roman Catholic church on just about every block!  The Basilica of St. Francis of Assisi is the biggest, one block over is the Loretto Chapel and the next block houses the St. Miguel Mission, the oldest church building in the United States.  A few blocks away is the Santuario de Guadalupe.

Interior of the Basilica of St. Francis of Assisi

Each is beautiful in its own way but the Loretto Chapel has what may be the most famous staircase in the world.  The spiral staircase is visited by over 250,000 people each year!  The legend behind it has even inspired a movie, titled appropriately, The Staircase (1998).

The chapel was commissioned in the 1880's to be built as a part of a school for girls.  The legend has it that the chapel was built with an upper level balcony at the rear of the chapel but there was no staircase to reach the balcony.  The nuns that ran the school couldn't find anyone to build the stairs so they began to pray a novena to St. Joseph, the patron saint of carpenters.   Being that I'm a Presbyterian, I can't explain what that is, but... 

On the ninth day of the novena, a carpenter came from out of town and offered to design and build the needed staircase.  He began construction using only simple hand tools and wood acquired from an unknown source.  He used no nails or glue.  Once he completed the job, he left town without being paid.

The Staircase

The legend is made even more grandiose in that it claims the stairs shouldn't even stand since they have no central pole nor any attachment to the building except at the bottom and at the top.  In other words, the staircase, resembling  illustrations I've seen of a DNA helix, is a miracle.

The staircase rises some 21 feet from the floor to the balcony, makes two complete 360 degree circles and has 33 steps, referring to the age of Jesus at his crucifixion.  Please note, I didn't count them, just passing on the legend.

Interior of Loretto Chapel

Snopes.com, that wonderful source for debunking urban legends and other tall tales, has a little different take on the story.  I have no feelings one way or the other but will say, the chapel and the staircase are beautiful and well worth the price of admission,  Yes, the chapel was sold to a private company and charges a fee to enter.  It is also available for rent for weddings and the like.

She Would Be 98

I spent March 30th helping my brother Johnny put up a privacy fence.  Acting on the axiom that good fences make good neighbors, Johnny must have been seeking extra good relations as his fence was to be 8 feet tall!

Now to build a fence properly, one must use a lot of string, first to set the posts in line. then to make sure the support rails are installed right then to make sure the tops of the pickets are in line.  Now Johnny has a collection of string, some  day-glo orange string, some bright lime green string and...some bright pink, a brand new roll.  A ribbon the color of this string would have made  wonderful decorative trim to a young girl's Easter dress.  It was a nice color and I immediately thought about what my mother would have said about it.

 When Mama was pleased with the appearance of something, her voice would rise about an octave and she would say:" That's so purty!", with her voice rising another octave on the word purty.

Now, we all know that the dictionary says the word should be pronounced "pretty" but good country folks everywhere don't necessarily refer to the dictionary when learning how to pronounce words so most of us say "purty" and everyone knows what we mean.  As long as the listener knows what the speaker intended to say, communications has occurred and the dictionary be ...darned.  Since this is about my Mama, she wouldn't have wanted me to say "damned" so I won't.

Mama's birthday was March 30 so when I commented to Johnny about the string, he reminded me of the date and its significance.  March 30th is also the date we buried our father in 1978.

Mama died on March 29, the day before she would have turned 90 years old.  Although Mama was in bad health, we had planned a celebration on March 31st, a Saturday, to commemorate her birthday. The celebration was to be held at her church in the fellowship hall.

When Mama died, the birthday party changed to a wake and funeral, again to be held at the church.  Although a tremendous effort was made to inform folks of the change of plans, one lady came expecting a birthday party but instead found the wake.  As Mama would have said, she was quite "got off with."

My mother was quite famous for her sewing abilities, particularly her quilts but to her family, for her biscuits.

When I would visit, she would make a pan or two of biscuits for me.  She would occasionally burn one and I would comment that she made a burnt offering for the prodigal son's return and she would laugh.  When I finished eating, she would ask if they were good and I would say, "no, I had to eat a dozen before I could find one fittin' to eat!"  She would laugh again.

So, Mama, mixed in with the planning of fence construction, our designs for building a better trap for carpenter bees and all the other topics of the day, Johnny and I celebrated your birthday with happy memories of you, and with a piece of string.  It was so purty.

I have to quit now, I can no longer see the screen.

He Was Called Pete

I was an uncle before I was old enough to know what the word meant.  My oldest brother, Gene, is about 16 years older than me and was gone from home before I became too aware of things. I have no memory of him living in the house with me.

Gene married soon after leaving home and soon began his family.His son Horace Eugene Sellers, Jr. was born while I was 4 years old.  He was quickly nicknamed Peter by his parents, for reasons I'll let them explain but it has nothing to do with the British actor famous for the Pink Panther movies!

They lived far away from our hometown and visits were not frequent.  Soon Debbie, Vickie and Cathy joined the family.  While they did spend time with us a couple of summers, we were never together enough to establish really strong bonds.  And as we all grew up, started our own families and moved to various parts of the country, we never strengthened those bonds.

Seated: Shelby, L to R:  Vickie, Debbie , Gene and Cathy

Although  Peter, who came to be better known as Pete, lived close by, we were never close.  I never got to know his children very well.  Although they are all grown and have their own families, my best knowledge of them came only in the last few years through connections in social media.

Pete left this earthly existence last week.  As I'm sure happens with most families, we gathered from far and near to provide support for his children, Crystal, Bubba, Amber and Staci and for his parents, Gene and Shelby.

Pete's children and grand-children

I will admit that I approached this gathering with apprehension, I haven't seen some of them in many years and most of them might as well be total strangers.  But as we gathered and talked, ate, laughed at little, cried a little, I found myself coming to appreciate them in new ways and look at them through different eyes.

I found in Debbie an openness and candor that was so refreshing and in Vickie and Cathy, a sense of humor I never knew of. And although I still  think of them as little girls they once were, they all have grandchildren much older than mine.

Pete's kids, young adults actually, faced a situation for which they were ill prepared, as most folks would be, regardless of their age.  Having to make decisions about end-of-life issues is difficult at best.  Like most families, it took some time for them to reach a consensus but they did.  Let no one second guess them.

As I spent time with them and their kids: the sullen teens, the rambunctious pre-teens and the adorable toddlers, I found myself regretting that I haven't gotten to know them better before. It makes me want to go to my other nieces and nephews here near my home, those in Georgia, in Birmingham and in Texas and spend time with them, getting to know them and their children better.  Funerals should not be the only time to get acquainted.

My brother Gene is a preacher and has preached many funerals.  He had a role in Pete's funeral, something that not many people could do.  How he maintained his composure and delivered a powerful eulogy and message, I'll never know. I admire his courage.

This occasion  also allowed for time with my siblings.  Our sister Betty, now the matriarch of our clan, made sure everyone had a place to stay and was fed.  In her tireless way, she kept going strong for the entire week, something none of the rest of us could do.

Left to Right:  Woody, Joe, Gene, Betty, Johnny and Elmer

As we gathered, I took the opportunity to try to update my family history records.  I sat with some of the folks and got information on spouses, kids, grand-kids for  my genealogy files.  As I later input the data into my computer database, I learned a couple of things.

I always understood that the children of my nephew would be called "great-nephew or niece.".  I learned that the more appropriate term for these relatives is "grand-nephew or niece!"  Their children would then be great-grand-nephew or niece."

As I tried to verify this using various sources, which all confirmed the terms, I ran across another new concept.  Just as brothers and sisters are called siblings, nieces and nephews are called "niblings!" Check it out, I'm not making this up!

So whether they're niblings, great or grand niblings, I've developed a new appreciation for them.  I think they're all "great!"

How Minnie Pearl Inspired My Name

Yes, that Minnie Pearl, the one of Grand Ole Opry and Hee Haw fame, the one with the price tag on her hat and who would say: "Howdeee!  I'm so proud to be here!"

My late mother's name was Ruby Dean Motes Sellers.  Like all good rural southern girls she wasn't known by one name but by two: Ruby Dean.  In fairness, some of her family would from time to time call her Dean, her nieces and nephews on her side of the family would call her Aunt Dean but no one ever called her Ruby. That is except for patronizing people like the staff at the doctor's office who really didn't know her but would see her name on the registration card and might call her Miss Ruby but as she was prone to say, "they don't know no better."

Mama gave birth to 8 darlings in her life time of which I was the seventh. She told me later in my life that she was fond of the name Dean and always wanted to name on of her children Dean.  So the time came when it was my time to enter the world that she decided to make her wish come true, I was to be named Dean, boy or girl.  You have to remember  that when I was born, the sex of the unborn child was a mystery until an eyes-on investigation could say for sure which it was.  Fortunately, Dean is one of those androgynous names that can fit either sex so the plan was in place.  Now, what to go with Dean to make the name complete?

Here's where Minnie Pearl enters the picture.

In the early '50's, entertainment from outside the home came mostly in the form of the radio.  Entertainment could come in the form of a drama, or the broadcast of a ballgame, but one of the most popular shows on the radio, particularly for my folks, was the Grand Ole Orpy.  Live from the historic Ryman Auditorium in downtown Nashville, Tennessee would come the sounds of country music performers like Roy Acuff, Little Jimmy Dickens and countless others, including Minnie Pearl.

One of the main sponsors of the Opry was American Ace Coffee, a product of the American Tea and Coffee Company, also of Nashville.  Their commercials would open with Minnie Pearl shouting: "Elmer, don't forget the American Ace Coffee!"  The name Elmer would be said in the same style as her famous tag line: "How-dee!", with the second syllable rising an octave or so higher in pitch than the first.

An American Ace Coffee bag as offered for sale on eBay

American Ace Coffee also sponsored a radio show known as the American Ace Coffee Show using the same commercial.  Thanks to an exhaustive search of the internet by my friend Steve Lancaster, you can hear it the introduction of the show here:

And, according to the story told to me by my mother, this is where she found the inspiration to use the name Elmer to go along with her Dean and is how I got my name.  I think it's also the inspiration for the way she would call out to get me home in time for supper when I was off playing with the kids down the street.  She would step onto the back porch and holler: "Ellll-mer."  Nothing else need be said and I knew it was time to go home.  I could pretend I didn't hear her but there were usually corporal consequences if I did!

Interestingly, for the first few years of my life, I was called Deannie.  I started the first grade of school with my family calling me that while at school I was known as Elmer.  I opted to stick with Elmer until I went into the Navy where I chose to use the name Dean.  My friends from that era still use Dean.  But of course, here in the deep south there are those that think the proper style is to use both!

I continued the tradition of the name Dean and my son is named Jonathan Dean, although he has never gone by Dean.  Perhaps he will maintain the tradition and we will have a Dean in the family for the future.

From 2003, Elmer Dean, Ruby Dean and Jonathan Dean Sellers

If I had known this story when I was in high school, I could have told my friends and maybe I would have tagged with a cool nickname like the "American Ace", or just plain "Ace."  But, most likely, they would have looked at the bag of coffee, read the label and I would have been called "Drip!"

Where Muscle Power Rules

Can you imagine a place where there are no cars, trucks, motorcycles or even battery powered golf carts?  Maybe you can in an out-of-the-way wilderness but how about in a bustling tourist destination?

Well there is such a place and it's Mackinac Island, Michigan. Keep in mind that Michigan is where place names trace their origins either to the Native Americans or French so there are hardly any names that are pronounced the way they look.  It's pronounced Mackinaw.

Mackinac Island is located just east of the straits between Lake Michigan and Lake Huron, where the Upper Peninsula of Michigan and the lower portion almost meet.  The "Big Mac,", the Mackinac Bridge connects the two land masses.  On the north end of the bridge is St. Ignace, pronounced, believe it or not, as it's spelled.  On the southern end is Mackinaw City..., no it's not a typo, the city's name is spelled different from the straits, the bridge or the island.

Mackinac Bridge

Before we get to the meat of this story, the island, let's talk about the bridge.  Mackinac Bridge is the 5th longest suspension bridge in the world with the suspension portion of the bridge at over 8,600 feet in length with the overall bridge length of over 5 miles.  The roadbed is 199 feet above the water at the mid of the span.  There are fours lanes of traffic on the bridge the outer two in each direction is asphalt with the inner two steel grates, the kind that seem to take control of your car!  Maximum speed for cars is 45 and trucks 25.  High winds result in a lower speed limit.

Since this is the only connection between the land for hundreds of miles, it is a very important bridge.  Drivers who are uncomfortable driving across the bridge can have the Bridge Authority supply a driver to get across the bridge!  There is no charge for this service.  Bicyclists, pedestrians and snow-mobilers can pay to be taken across the bridge.

Now back to our story.

To get to Mackinac Island one must take ferry, private boat or private plane.  Of course a ferry is the most popular option.  Ferries travel from both St. Ignace or Mackinaw City, many times daily,for most months until the ice prevents them from making the trip. From there, a tourist can see the sights of the island on foot, via bicycle, there are many places  to rent one, horse back or horse drawn carriage. The island is small, only 8-miles around the perimeter so most of the sights are well within walking distance.

What interested me is not how people moved but how goods moved: luggage of the guests in one of the islands many hotels, deliveries to the stores and restaurants and, hay for the horses! All done by horse drawn wagons or bicycle!

Freight delvery from the ferry to its destination

A visitor's luggage being transported to their hotel

There are reported to be about 500 year-round residents of the island.  Children are educated in its one school which houses grades K through 12.  As you can see, there are no buses!

Island school

There are many hotels if one wishes to stay on the island.  The Grand Hotel is perhaps the most famous and popular.  I wanted to spend the night there until I found that the cheapest room they have, even in the off season, is $250 per person per night!  To dine there, gentlemen must wear coat and tie!  There is even a fee to visit the lobby of the hotel!!

Shore line on the south west side of the island

House on Main Street

History buffs will find Mackinac Island very interesting in that it was first inhabited prior to 1000 AD by Native Americans.  The French were the first Europeans to visit the island in 1670.  There is Fort Mackinac that served various armies from 1790 to 1895.  One can also learn of the importance of the island in early American fur trading.

Fort Mackinac

This house dates to 1790.

As I looked down Main Street,, I couldn't help but equate the island to Disney World.  All the building were extremely well maintained, the street clear (mostly) of traffic and everything was clean.  In another sense, it was like a visit through a time machine to a time when the "horseless carriage" didn't exist.

View down Main Street

I must point out that pedestrians who mistakenly walked in the street were quickly chastised by the drivers of the wagons and carriages who "encouraged " them is loud voices to use the sidewalks!

Lilac Tree Hotel

The other main difference between Mackinac Island streets and Disney World or most other public streets for that matter, is the pollution. That many horses in such a relatively small area leads to...well, a certain kind of pollution.  One must be very careful when crossing the streets to avoid stepping in this pollution and, you just can't get away from the smell.  Even the strong winds off Lake Huron have a hard time combating the odor!

Mackinac Island is a very beautiful place to visit, one of the most picturesque places one can visit. So if you're in the area and want to visit, pack your wallet and put on your old shoes!  Have fun!

The One-Road Road Trip Reviewed

The long-dreamed of exploration of US Highway 45 is now a thing of the past and now the examination has to be:  did it meet my expectations, was it worth it?

The expectations I set as a young boy were probably those of big city lights and big time excitement, those were not met, by my choice!   The expectations of a middle-aged man to whom taking pictures of a sunset is big time excitement, those expectations were met in spades.

The road that is now Highway 45 is not the same as it was "back in the day."  Through most of the route in Mississippi, Tennessee and Kentucky, the original road has been widen to at least 4 lanes and in many cases, routed around the small towns that dot the landscape.  On  a trip where the destination is the focus, that might be fine but on one that the purpose was the journey, it leaves a lot to be desired.

Four-lane highways mimic the interstates with their purpose to limit access and reduce the driving time of those using the path.  By-passed are the small towns with their general stores city halls and their festivals.  Those have been replaced with Dollar General stores on the out-skirts beside the super-gas station/convenience story/fast food restaurant.

What Highway 45 did provide was a view of agriculture on a scale I've never witnessed.  Northern Mississippi and southern Tennessee featured vast fields of cotton, showing its white bolls awaiting harvesting.  These gave way in northern Tennessee and into Kentucky to the soy beans fields that stretched on for miles, the field interrupted only by the groups of silos for storing the beans.

 Northern Kentucky and Illinois begins corn country which stretches into Wisconsin and Michigan.

Now, I thought I had seen corn fields but nothing I've ever seen in my life compares to the seemly endless fields of corn, the stalks so dense and tall that it seemed impenetrable.  But that's not the noticeable thing about these field.  To me the most interesting part is that there little land that wasn't covered with corn.  The corn grew up to the right-of-way of the road and up to the edge of the yard of the homesteads that were miles apart.  Even in entering the towns, the corn fields reluctantly gave way to the homes and businesses.  We spent a night in Mattoon,  Illinois.  The corn field ended at the edge of the hotel's parking lot and the shopping center next door.

Each farm house featured a large, traditional-shaped and colored barns surrounded by more modern metal structures and the ubiquitous silos.  It appeared the only variation between them was the shape of the home itself, the remaining structures virtual clones of the ones down the road.

The road in this part of the country is flat and straight, making 90 degree turns in the towns only to return to flat and straight.  Traffic mostly came in the form of farm implements moving from one field to another, their name or function I can only guess.

Many of the grain silos bore business names that indicate the corn was destined to be consumed as fuel in an automobile rather than roasted on the cob!

As we neared northern Illinois, we found mixed in with the centuries old farming the new trend in farming: wind farms.  Rising out of  the corn fields were the titan structures with their three-bladed wind mills to harness nature and provide electrical power to the region.

The view of Chicago from Highway 45 was a distant one.  45 skirts the Windy City passing through metro area on the south and west side.  The tall buildings of downtown can occasionally be seen from high points on hills or businesses.  O'Hare International Airport is bordered by 45 but on this trip highway construction kept the passage from being anywhere near enjoyable.

Leaving the Chicago metro area puts one right back into corn fields, this time in Wisconsin.  But the trees that were scarce in Illinois become much more common and close in state famous for its cheese., that is until you get to Milwaukee.  Highway 45 merges with an interstate for several miles.  Our arrival was poorly timed and we got to experience a Friday afternoon rush hour with its expected slowdown.

Our arrival in Wisconsin also coincided  with the arrival of a cold front that brought cold temperatures and a cold rain.  This wouldn't have been a problem except that our packing of clothes was based on a weather report or daily temperatures in the mid-50"s with overnight lows in the mid-40's.  turns out our daily high was 40!

The next day we rolled into Ontonagon Michigan and the end of Highway 45 (or as they claim, the beginning of the highway)! A quick selfie (usie) in the rain and then into Syl's Restaurant for a lo
cal treat, the pastie!  That's pronounced past-ee, we soon learned.  The pastie is ground beef and grounded pork, diced potatoes, rutabagas,  onions and carrots stuffed into a tart-like pastry and baked.  It is really very good. It is a treat the UP is renown for.

Although our vacation continued in the land of those who talk funny for several more days, this was the end of 45 was the intended goal and the stated purpose of the trip.  So this tale will end here.

But first, some other unexpected highlights of the trip:

Finding that Jackson Tennessee is the home of the famous railroad engineer Casey Jones.  His grave is here and although we found the cemetery, we couldn't get in as it was locked.  I should note that Jones baptism took place at a Catholic church in Whistler Alabama, less than one mile from Highway 45!

The first city one encounters in Illinois while traveling on this road, is Metropolis.  And what citizen is the most famous from Metropolis?  Why,it's the Man of Steel, Superman!  He is honored with a larger-than life statue at the courthouse.

In upper Wisconsin and into Michigan, we began to see broad stripe of some white-colored substance, crossing the highway every couple of miles or so.  My first impression was this was markings that allowed for aerial speed monitoring but they weren't at regular intervals.  After several miles we deduced that these are special surfaces to allow snowmobiles to cross the highway  without damaging the pavement!  Not something one sees very often in south Alabama!

We tried to pay particular attention to signs that announced we were entering a new town. We took pictures of the better ones to see which we could award our selection as the best sign of the trip.  While not the most attractive nor the best made, the one that generated perhaps the most interest was the welcome sign to Watersmeet, Michigan. The sign indicates that the town is the home to the Watersmeet High School Nimrods!  It has been my experience that calling someone a nimrod is not paying them a compliment!  A search of online dictionaries tells me that the word is actually a Biblical name meaning, in Hebrew, mighty hunter!  A wonderful mascot even if it does require a lot of explanation!

Another noteworthy observation of this trip, only one person made fun of my speech!

A journey of this sort is not the right trip for everyone to take.  If fact, I don't know if I'll ever undertake a similar trip, especially of this length but it was important for reasons previously mentioned to make this journey. There are some beautiful sights along the way, from the corn fields of Illinois to the backwoods of the Upper Peninsula of Michigan.  So if you choose to try this trip, be sure and tell Superman I said hello and enjoy a pastie for me at the other end of the highway!