Love What You’ve Got

Linda Burton posting from Springfield, Illinois – I woke in Indianapolis today; from my room overlooking the city I watched the sun rise in the morning window-sparkle of downtown skyscrapers. I sleep tonight in Springfield; outside my room a single tree somewhat blocks my view of the long-haul trucks in the parking lot, waiting for daylight to hit the road. Though both cities are the center of government for their state, they are very different in style. Indianapolis (pop 829,718) thrives on the adrenalin of sports; speedways and stadiums dot the landscape, surrounded by the accoutrements that accommodate large crowds; restaurants of every ilk, high-rise hotels, taxi cabs. Stand and cheer! Springfield (pop 116,250) is Lincoln’s land; everywhere is evidence of the quiet reflective man who lived here, is buried here. In Springfield he practiced law; in Springfield he campaigned to become president of the land, though when he arrived he didn’t have money to even buy a bed. Inspiration of a different sort; such is the way of the Journey Across America, now 60% complete (stand and cheer!). Today I claim 30 capital cities as my home towns; for the last 443 days I’ve experienced life with big-city bustle, and small-town charm. I’ve seen mountains and valleys and rivers and lakes, fishing and farming and mining and making things, fresh air and fresh food and history and her story, progress and dropping back and growth and decline, sun belts and bible belts and rust belts and no belts at all, just space. Or congestion. I knew capital cities would be interesting; I had no idea how such a mix of lifestyles and scenery and climate would affect my sensibilities, and begin to explain the world. It’s not what you’ve got that matters, I’ve discovered, it’s how much you love what you’ve got. » read more

Rock Solid

Linda Burton posting from Indianapolis, Indiana – “I know you are very smart,” the tour guide said, her lapel-mike echoing her voice in the great hall, “Your teachers are very good, and you have come here today to learn more about your state. I am proud of you.” “Rapt attention” may sound a bit clichéd, but the fourth-grade class circle-seated on the rotunda’s marble floor was seriously paying attention. I felt pretty smart myself, and right at home; there was something in the air, was it the light filtering through the colorful art-glass dome of the rotunda? Or the pleasant musty smell of the oaks doors facing the spacious hall – offices of the Governor, the Secretary of State, the Treasurer – knock to come in, communicate. Upstairs, on the balcony, I passed a window-in-the-wall that allowed a view straight into the Senate chambers; a passing staff member explained – “We want people to know what’s going on. You can watch from the hallway or the gallery above.” No session today, but the Chamber doors were open; “You’re welcome to go in,” she urged, “And don’t miss the Supreme Court room.” I followed her suggestion, noting the “Activities For Kids” bulletin board just outside the Supreme Court door. Inside I settled in a wooden chair to rest a moment and opened the booklet I’d picked up at the Visitors Desk. I read the chapter titles first: A Center of Civic Life. In Character With The Parthenon. In Clear Arrangement. The First One Hundred Years. Restoration At Its Best. A Solid Foundation. I flipped to the last sentence on the last page: “Indiana’s State House has a rock-solid foundation.” My interest was thoroughly piqued by now, I decided to begin at the beginning. » read more

Two Hoosier Guys

Linda Burton posting from Indianapolis, Indiana – An unopened letter under glass. A hat and cane on the bed. These lonely mementos are remnants of the lives of two men whose words have touched virtually every school child and avid reader of the last hundred years. I’m talking about James Whitcomb Riley (1849-1916) and Kurt Vonnegut Jr (1922-2007), both with inextricable ties to Indianapolis. Riley was an American writer known as the Hoosier Poet. His work tended to be humorous or sentimental and most of the thousand poems he published were in dialect, like Little Orphant Annie (1885). Vonnegut was an American writer known for his unique blend of satire and science fiction. His black comic voice became his trademark in novels such as Slaughterhouse Five (1969). The James Whitcomb Riley Museum Home and the Kurt Vonnegut Memorial Library sit only blocks apart in downtown Indianapolis. I visited both today, looking for more personal glimpses of the men and hoping to better understand what led them down their chosen paths. I never thought of them as anything alike, but before the day was over, I found that I was wrong; they had a great deal in common. Though born in different centuries, they grew up on Indiana time; little boys raised with Indiana values. As with most of us, they were greatly influenced by their families. James was the third of the six children of Reuben and Elizabeth Riley; Kurt Jr was the youngest of three children born to Kurt and Edith Vonnegut. Both families suffered a traumatic change of circumstances that reflected forever in the writings, and behaviors, of these two men. » read more

Birth Of A Capital City

Linda Burton posting from Indianapolis, Indiana –How many capital cities have the name of the state within the name of the city? The answer is at the end of this post, but obviously Indianapolis is one. The name was created by joining “Indiana” with “polis,” which is the Greek word for “city.” Yes, Indianapolis literally means Indiana City (like Oklahoma City, a trivia hint for you). So the next question is “what does Indiana mean?” I won’t go into all of the Indian wars and treaties that occurred as the United States expanded westward; I’ll start with July 4, 1800, when Indiana Territory was pulled out of the larger Northwest Territory. Vincennes, a former French trading post and one of the only white settlements in the vast territory, was named capital. At that time about five thousand white Europeans lived north of the Ohio River; Native Americans occupied most of the Territory, referred to as “Land of the Indians,” aka Indiana. Fast forward to December 1813: Corydon was named the second capital of Indiana Territory, and the wheels began to turn for statehood. President James Madison approved Indiana’s admission into the Union December 11, 1816 as the 19th state. The capital could not be located in the central part of the state at that time because the land was controlled by Native Americans; however in an 1818 treaty the area was opened for white settlement; an unprecedented migration followed. A central location for a capital city became imperative then; on January 11, 1820 Governor Jennings commissioned 10 men to select a site for the permanent capital. They chose a spot at the junction of Fall Creek and White River; the legislature ratified their selection January 6, 1821, and the building of a capital city began. Enter Alexander Ralston. » read more

Not To Brag

Linda Burton posting from Indianapolis, Indiana – Cherry trees? I’m not sure about the small grove of brilliant pink just below my hotel window in a tiny pocket park, but they are full-bloomed out and looking fine today. Across the street the trees need a few more days of sun, although the grass below is high; a city groundskeeper is circling each tree with his mowing machine. I’m looking straight into downtown Indianapolis, the second-largest of the 50 capital cities with a population of 829,718 (US Census 2010). And I’m reading the Indy Visitor Guide, trying to get my bearings and make a plan. I’m just five blocks from the State Capitol, straight down Washington Street; and I can see the top of the monument in Monument Circle tucked between tall buildings, just two blocks away. Very cool. The cover of the Spring/Summer 2013 version of Visit Indy surprises me – a gondolier in a black and white striped shirt guiding a gondola on a canal? Am I in Venice, or the middle of the USA? But that’s what it promises: gondolas, art parks, ziplines, shopping, music, and more. Let’s Eat! it implores. 173 Great Restaurants! The Indy 500 is all I really know about Indianapolis; Visit Indy tells me that 400,000 people attend the various races at the Speedway every year. But get this – 22 million people visit the city every year (that averages out to 60,000 people a day). And no wonder so many people come to Indianapolis – 50% of the population of the United States lives within an 8-hour drive! This is serious tourism bragging going on, well, I guess I’d brag too over such impressive numbers. I keep reading. » read more

Ghosts On The Hill

Linda Burton posting from Nashville, Tennessee – The couple behind was panting even more than me. There was a steep hillclimb to get to the capitol entry point and the closest parking was blocks away in an expensive high-rise garage. I passed THP scrutiny and received my entry pass but needed to catch my breath; I watched as the Tennessee Highway Patrol guard at the tunnel door went through his routine again. He opened the woman’s bag and searched it; he photocopied their photo ID and entered their names into his database. Finally issued passes, they were allowed to walk through Xray, and given directions to the elevator. “That’s not very welcoming,” I commented to the officer, noting his name on his badge and adding “Mike,” to my sentence, aiming for a friendly tone. “Why do you require photo ID before allowing people to visit their state capitol? I haven’t seen that anywhere before.” Mike shook his head in a kind of apology. “We’ve had so many threats,” he answered. “We check names against our database of people who are considered dangerous and not allowed in.” We chatted a while, discussing the fine line between “openness” and “safety” with regard to public buildings in this day and age. The Tennessee State Capitol is a treasure, to be sure, filled with historic moments and memories; it even serves as the final resting place of its architect William Strickland, who is buried in the northeast corner. Though sitting high atop a hill, the building is dwarfed today by the city that has grown up around it; skyscrapers and congested streets almost edge out the feel of history. But I’d come to see; I said goodbye to Mike and headed down the hall, my photo-pass stuck to my shirt. » read more

Leave As Friends

Linda Burton posting from Nashville, Tennessee – “Enter as strangers, leave as friends.” That’s what happens when you gather round the dining table and start passing the peas. And the mashed potatoes, and meatloaf, and all the other goodies that grace the table. I was sitting in Monell’s, a family style restaurant in a historic 1880’s house in Germantown, a north Nashville neighborhood. Baskets of corn muffins, pitchers of sweet tea; pass to the left, please; you can’t help it, you start to chat. “My husband died in February,” said Sandra, on my left. “My son brought me out for lunch today.” Terrance nodded, “We’re walking in the park after lunch,” he said, “I’ve lost almost a hundred pounds in the last year.” He pulled out his cellphone to show a picture of his former self; his mother and I lavished him with praise. On my right sat Allison and Matt; Matt directs a local TV show and gave me the scoop on the Nashville scene; in turn they wanted to know absolutely everything about the Journey. A month’s worth of friendliness, over chicken and dumplings; where can you find that, except when sharing a meal? No fast food hurry up, just take your time and talk. Family dining, the old-fashioned way. Monell’s was my Saturday treat; today I headed far out in the country to the famed Loveless Café for Sunday brunch. Willard Scott claimed the Loveless has the “world’s greatest scratch biscuits” and Martha Stewart said it was “the best breakfast I ever had.” But the reality of the Loveless popularity really hit when I wound up in the unpaved parking lot on the far end of the property. Hundreds of biscuit-hungry folks were already waiting to be fed. » read more

Visit Vanderbilt

Linda Burton posting from Nashville, Tennessee – “Your trip to Nashville is not complete until you visit Vanderbilt.” That’s what it says in their brochure. No kidding, the loveliest bit of tourist info I have in my stack of “things to do in Nashville” is from Vanderbilt University. You expect bastions of learning to focus on enticements to attract new students, or new donors, and research institutions to tout their contributions to the world and their ranking in the research dollars they pull in every year. You expect institutions with high-profile sports programs – especially money-makers football and basketball – to brag and strut. But I’ve never yet come across an institution of learning that invites you to come to its campus simply because it offers so much for a visitor to experience. “Vanderbilt is more than a world-class university. It is a playground for the senses, open to anyone with a curious heart and mind and an appreciation for beauty and vibrancy.” That’s downright poetic! The visitor brochure I have in hand unfolds to a 9 x 24-inch display; a matte finish pleasing to the eye; photos show students in various settings: walking beneath sunlit golden trees, studying beside a peaceful fountain; cheering a ball game, shopping at the bookstore, playing violin. There are pictures of a historic building, a classroom, a reception hall, the dining room. But even more critical to an actual visit is the information panel –the address and a map; the website and a phone number. It advises where to park, and which building to visit first. Go to Kirkland Hall; the university receptionist can answer questions and talk to you about touring the campus. Vanderbilt wants me to visit, I’m convinced. » read more

Untangling Nashville

Linda Burton posting from Nashville, Tennessee – “The thing I love about Nashville is that it’s a big city that feels like a small town.” I heard that statement three times in a row today, from people of different ages in different settings. The same exact words! “A big city that feels like a small town.” I asked each one to explain what they meant. “People are friendly,” was one answer. “Everybody takes care of each other.” “It’s just a bunch of good neighborhoods.” “People here have no pretenses.” Dendy, who’s in the music business, talked about the rich and famous who call Nashville home. “They like to spend time here because they can walk around and rub elbows with everybody else with no hassle.” Martha, who travels the south in her marketing job, talked about the friendliness here. “I’d choose Nashville over any other city,” she said. “It’s pretty, and there are a million things to do. We’ve got good music and we’ve got good churches and we’ve got really good food. I always feel good when I get close to Nashville.” I interrupted Martha at that point. “I felt terror,” I threw in. “The traffic!” “Well, yes, there is a lot of traffic,” she conceded, “and the streets can be confusing until you learn your way around.” I’ll say! Street names change at almost every turn; this road goes there and that road turns this way. There are freeways and parkways and boulevards and pikes. A lot of pikes, for a lot of cars, for a lot of people. Nashville’s population is 601,222 (US 2010 Census) and it’s the 6^th largest capital city – just a tad smaller than Boston and a tad larger than Denver. My challenge is to untangle the mystery: why does big-city Nashville feel so small-town sweet? » read more

Stockton’s Valley

Linda Burton posting from Nashville, Tennessee – I was born October 5 1816 in Cumberland County Stockton’s Valley Kentucky. That is the beginning line in the Journal of William Irwin Jr, my 3^rd-great-grandfather. My path today, as I headed south from Frankfort to Nashville, would lead me through Stockton’s Valley. For weeks I’ve been following the trail of Daniel Boone and the pioneers who moved westward into Kentucky; now this is my day to get personal with history. William is my relative and my pioneer; and best of all William kept a Journal; he left behind a written picture of his life and times. My brother discovered William’s Journal just a few years back; the original is in possession of a distant cousin in Oregon, who kindly sent us copies. William died of cholera in 1849 as he and his family headed for the new state of Texas; he is buried by the trail in Arkansas, alongside his father William, and three of his children, a heartwrenching story as are so many stories of this country’s settlement. The Journal was preserved in a handsome leather pouch; an amazing tale for us to read today. The first page continues: The name of Irwin was imported from Ireland in the person of William Irwin who emigrated to the United States and settled in Cumberland County Pa on Antedum Creek. He had three sons, James, Robert & John. The latter of whom was my grandfather who married a woman of Welsh descent by the name of Elizabeth Cunningham.…grandfather… was a soldier in the revolutionary war….Grandfather had three sons…my father William, Francis, and John. Francis married but had no heirs and died in Cotton Gin Miss. John settled in Cumberland Cty Ky and had a large family of children.

It is John’s grave I’m looking for today; the target is Albany Cemetery. » read more