We are our history

The most important lesson I've learned on this trip was brought home to me even more powerfully today. It's this: you're never more certain of what it means to be American than when you're immersed in its history. In my life I've walked the grassy fields of Valley Forge, explored the narrow passages beneath Boulder Dam, trod the deck of a whaling ship in Connecticut, threaded my way up the spiral steps of the Statue of Liberty, gazed out the lofty windows of the Gateway Arch in St. Louis, even sat on the banks of the mighty Mississippi in Tennessee and watched a thunderstorm roll toward me like a speeding passenger train. I'm not sure at the time I truly grasped the significance of any of those experiences.

But on this trip, as we learned about General Custer and his violent end on a grassy piece of prairie known as the Little Big Horn, or today, as we learned about the hardship and dedication that went into constructing one of American's premier historic landmarks, Mount Rushmore, I can honestly say that I get it. I really get it.

Later, as we visited our second landmark of the day, the Crazy Horse memorial where a man named Korczak Ziółkowski, a Boston-born sculptor of Polish descent, almost single-handedly took on the task of carving that famous native American out of a living mountain, our emotions were just swept away. As Concetta and sat in the darkened auditorium and listened to what the Korczak went through to accomplish his task (Crazy Horse is still in progress after over fifty years) both of us came away with tears in our eyes and a new appreciation for the sacrifice that many ordinary Americans have made in order to make this country great.

If you have not seen the Custer battlefield, or Mount Rushmore, or the Crazy Horse memorial, I suggest you put these places on your itinerary for next time. While you're at it, all those other places I mentioned are pretty darn memorable, too.

Concetta cooked us up a passel of sausage, red beans, and rice for dinner tonight. Since I'd been working on the blog and photographs while she cooked (and did the laundry) I proposed a toast when she sat down at our diminutive dining table to eat. "A toast," I said, "to one of the best days on the road we've had yet." She just stared at me. "Not counting the laundry," I said, and she grimaced at me but raised her glass.

I recount this story to illustrate that being on the road isn't all cocktails and cheese platters by the park pool. Not by a long shot. Yesterday, as I explained (briefly) last night, we couldn't get internet access at all. In their infinite wisdom the RV folks had situated us just fifty feet or so BEYOND the outer limits of their WiFi access point. Tonight, try as I might, I could not get on line. My computer would happily connect to the RV park router but would not get to the outside world. They had parked me, at my insistence, right next to the access point. In desperation, I had to get the park owner over to explain to me why I could ping his router but not get out. This is where I learned just how my old customers felt when I would respond to their IT problems. The owner sat down at my laptop showing the big red X where the connection should be, changed access points (which I had already done without success) and immediately connected. Oh, well. I've looked like an idiot before and trust that it won't be the last time.

On this road trip I swear I've been gouged, sliced, banged, burned, and have generally lost more skin than when I was building the garden shed last summer. We've been beset by yellow jackets, plagued by flies, and showered with swarms of grasshoppers. You never know from mile to mile just which one of God's creatures is going to take a liking to you and try to move in. I've already recounted dropping the passenger-side wheels into an unseen hole while trying to park on a city street and trashing the protective cover of my refrigerator coils. I'm still trying to get used to just how high, wide and handsome (well, at least the first two) the machine is. Yesterday I easily zapped a carefully-placed highway sign (thank goodness a small one) as we drove through one town. Today, I just caught myself before I turned too quickly and unceremoniously removed the overhead lighting to a gas pump island.

The photo at right is at the Crazy Horse memorial. I'm standing inside the museum and shooting the memorial's horse head model, the whole memorial likeness is just outside the window, and in the distance you can see the mountain where the family of Korczak Ziółkowski carries on his work. Korczak died in 1982, but his wife and most of his children (He had five boys and five girls) carry on his work to this day. This afternoon, as we made for the exit, we actually saw the wife and one of the daughters walk right up to us. We were so stunned to see her (right out of the movie we'd just watched), but Concetta was able to compliment her on the job they were doing as well as the outstanding quality of the visitor center. The whole of the project, by the way, has no government money of any kind. It's funded through proceeds from the visitor center and from outside private donations.

Here's the specifications for the memorial from Wikipedia: The monument is being carved out of Thunderhead Mountain on land considered sacred by some Oglala Lakota, between Custer and Hill City, South Dakota, roughly 17 miles from Mount Rushmore. The sculpture's final dimensions are planned to be 641 feet (195 m) wide and 563 feet (172 m) high. The head of Crazy Horse will be 87 feet (27 m) high; by comparison, the heads of the four U.S. Presidents at Mount Rushmore are each 60 feet (18 m) high.

The photo at left is of our trusty Ford ensconced beneath the lofty Ponderosa Pines on the Rafter J Bar RV ranch near Mill City, South Dakota. Even though the internet service was lacking, the setting was to die for. They gave us the end site on the edge of a broad meadow surrounded by these wonderful old pines. This morning, as the sun came up, I lifted the bedroom blind and was blessed with a panoramic view of the full sweep of Mother Nature's handiwork. It was magnificent.

This evening we're enjoying the hospitality of the KOA in Hot Springs, South Dakota, a place I (and probably you) have never heard of. But in this little burg, population 3711 as of the latest census, we intend to, as the brochure puts it, "Experience an Ice Age museum filled with huge fossils displayed just as they were found." Now I have my doubts that the museum has been around since the ice age, I'll forgive them that piece of grammatical tomfoolery, but the brochure goes on to say that they have no less than 58 "Columbian and wooly mammoths." This we've got to see. AND, as an added touch, the folks here at the KOA have told us in confidence that the museum staff have recently discovered a couple more of the long-extinct creatures bringing their total to sixty! Obviously, tomorrow promises to be every bit as exciting as today.