Late January - it's been a mild winter but even a "nice" winter in this neck of the woods isn't all that nice. It's time to leave for milder climes - no, not my usual junket to New Mexico to check on my house and tenant in old Mesilla.
Instead of the Southwest, it will be to the Southeast where daughter Kara is a major in the Army at the Dwight D. Eisenhower medical facility. Fort Gordon, Georgia, near Augusta, has never been on my list of travel priorities. A couple years at Cherry Point with the 2nd Marine Air Wing on the coast of North Carolina were enough of the Southeast for me. It wasn't bad duty, and North Carolina is a nice enough state, but I was anxious to get back to the Wisconsin and normal civilian life, if college at University of Wisconsin-Madison can be considered "normal."
Anyway, a daughter stationed down there is enough to put the Southeast on my list of priorities. Besides, it will be a break from Wisconsin winter.
Looking at the map, it appears there are several ways to get there. On a drab January day, Sherry and I toss some gear into my GMC and head south, across the Illinois line through Freeport. Freeport, site of one of the historic Lincoln-Douglas debates, is lesser known as home of the Pretzels and the "Snack Bowl," the periodic faceoff between the MHS Cheesemakers and the FHS Pretzels.
Patches of snow remain on the drab landscape. South of Freeport we roll through Forreston, a sleepy small town with which Monroe shares a cultural heritage. It was a century ago when several Monroe residents traveled to Forreston for its sauerkraut festival. They concluded that if Forreston could have a sauerkraut festival, why couldn't Monroe have a cheese festival? Thus began Monroe's well-attended biennial Cheese Days.
As far as I know, Forreston's sauerkraut days are a thing of the past, but Monroe's Cheese Days are alive and well. I doubt that many of Forreston's residents have the foggiest idea of their contribution to Monroe's heritage.
We head south to Dixon, hometown of Ronald Reagan, and one of my classmates, Lettie Adams Studer, before her transfer to Monroe for her senior year. But for that, she would never have met Freddie.
We cross the bridge over the Rock River. There is a spring on the home farm north of Monroe that flows into Skinner Creek, that flows into the Pecatonica River that flows into the Rock River that flows into the Mississippi and to the Gulf of Mexico. When I was a kid, my dad told me of that sequence. Ever since, I was fascinated by the concept of water from that spring eventually flowing to the Mississippi. The water flowing under that bridge in Dixon contains at least a few drops of water from the spring that once watered our cows. I think of that whenever crossing that bridge at Dixon.
We continue south to Mendota, a town resembling Monroe, hometown of one of my former colleagues at New Mexico State University's Ag Econ Department. We then turn onto I-39, continuing south to Bloomington, headquarters of State Farm Mutual Insurance.
We got a late start and it's getting dark already. I always seem to get a late start, even when traveling alone, so I can't blame it on Sherry. With the strong west wind continuing to buffet my GMC we switch to I-74. At Champaign, home of the flagship campus of the University of Illinois, we switch to I-57 and down through Mt. Vernon. It seems that every Midwestern state has a Mt. Vernon.
At the southern tip of Illinois, we transfer to I-24, and turn east across the Ohio River, into the western tip of Kentucky. Then it's through Paducah, which is at least as far as I wanted to reach that first day. A few miles east of Paducah, at Calvert City, we catch a motel for the evening.
Next morning, much to my surprise, the day dawns bright and sunny. The air is crisp and cool, actually warm compared to January in Wisconsin. The complimentary breakfast is about the best I have ever had for a motel complimentary breakfast - waffles, oatmeal with raisins and granola, coffee and juice, and excellent biscuits and gravy: The latter not my usual fare.
We head southeast across Kentucky's rolling hills. The grass is not dead and brown as one would expect in the winter farther north, but a yellowish, chartreuse color, as if trying to stay green. It surely will be scenic in spring when it turns to dark green with beef cattle grazing on the hillsides.
Approaching the southern border of Kentucky we pass the Army's Fort Campbell. I had heard of that base, but never knew what part of Kentucky it was in.
We cross the border into Tennessee and soon reach Nashville, the country music Mecca, home of the Grand Ol' Opry. As we pass through town, the stadium that hosts the NFL's Tennessee Titans is visible from the interstate.
I-24 goes across the center of Tennessee southeast across rolling wooded hills to Chattanooga, home of the Chattanooga Choo Choo, at the foot of the Appalachians. We stop for a bite to eat and ask the waitress if the weather is always this pleasant, sunny, temp in the high 50s and 60s. In a drawl barely comprehensible to northern ears, she explains that it's not always this pleasant, and when it gets down to low 30s, they can barely tolerate the cold. But today, it's like mid-April in Wisconsin.
Chattanooga, near the southern Tennessee line is near the northeastern corner of Alabama and the northwestern corner of Georgia. We cross the Tennessee line, still on I-24, into Georgia. We will have to pass through Atlanta, no efficient way to go around it.
Next week: Legacy and perils of Atlanta.
- John Waelti of Monroe can be reached at jjwaelti1@tds.net. His column appears Fridays in The Monroe Times.
Instead of the Southwest, it will be to the Southeast where daughter Kara is a major in the Army at the Dwight D. Eisenhower medical facility. Fort Gordon, Georgia, near Augusta, has never been on my list of travel priorities. A couple years at Cherry Point with the 2nd Marine Air Wing on the coast of North Carolina were enough of the Southeast for me. It wasn't bad duty, and North Carolina is a nice enough state, but I was anxious to get back to the Wisconsin and normal civilian life, if college at University of Wisconsin-Madison can be considered "normal."
Anyway, a daughter stationed down there is enough to put the Southeast on my list of priorities. Besides, it will be a break from Wisconsin winter.
Looking at the map, it appears there are several ways to get there. On a drab January day, Sherry and I toss some gear into my GMC and head south, across the Illinois line through Freeport. Freeport, site of one of the historic Lincoln-Douglas debates, is lesser known as home of the Pretzels and the "Snack Bowl," the periodic faceoff between the MHS Cheesemakers and the FHS Pretzels.
Patches of snow remain on the drab landscape. South of Freeport we roll through Forreston, a sleepy small town with which Monroe shares a cultural heritage. It was a century ago when several Monroe residents traveled to Forreston for its sauerkraut festival. They concluded that if Forreston could have a sauerkraut festival, why couldn't Monroe have a cheese festival? Thus began Monroe's well-attended biennial Cheese Days.
As far as I know, Forreston's sauerkraut days are a thing of the past, but Monroe's Cheese Days are alive and well. I doubt that many of Forreston's residents have the foggiest idea of their contribution to Monroe's heritage.
We head south to Dixon, hometown of Ronald Reagan, and one of my classmates, Lettie Adams Studer, before her transfer to Monroe for her senior year. But for that, she would never have met Freddie.
We cross the bridge over the Rock River. There is a spring on the home farm north of Monroe that flows into Skinner Creek, that flows into the Pecatonica River that flows into the Rock River that flows into the Mississippi and to the Gulf of Mexico. When I was a kid, my dad told me of that sequence. Ever since, I was fascinated by the concept of water from that spring eventually flowing to the Mississippi. The water flowing under that bridge in Dixon contains at least a few drops of water from the spring that once watered our cows. I think of that whenever crossing that bridge at Dixon.
We continue south to Mendota, a town resembling Monroe, hometown of one of my former colleagues at New Mexico State University's Ag Econ Department. We then turn onto I-39, continuing south to Bloomington, headquarters of State Farm Mutual Insurance.
We got a late start and it's getting dark already. I always seem to get a late start, even when traveling alone, so I can't blame it on Sherry. With the strong west wind continuing to buffet my GMC we switch to I-74. At Champaign, home of the flagship campus of the University of Illinois, we switch to I-57 and down through Mt. Vernon. It seems that every Midwestern state has a Mt. Vernon.
At the southern tip of Illinois, we transfer to I-24, and turn east across the Ohio River, into the western tip of Kentucky. Then it's through Paducah, which is at least as far as I wanted to reach that first day. A few miles east of Paducah, at Calvert City, we catch a motel for the evening.
Next morning, much to my surprise, the day dawns bright and sunny. The air is crisp and cool, actually warm compared to January in Wisconsin. The complimentary breakfast is about the best I have ever had for a motel complimentary breakfast - waffles, oatmeal with raisins and granola, coffee and juice, and excellent biscuits and gravy: The latter not my usual fare.
We head southeast across Kentucky's rolling hills. The grass is not dead and brown as one would expect in the winter farther north, but a yellowish, chartreuse color, as if trying to stay green. It surely will be scenic in spring when it turns to dark green with beef cattle grazing on the hillsides.
Approaching the southern border of Kentucky we pass the Army's Fort Campbell. I had heard of that base, but never knew what part of Kentucky it was in.
We cross the border into Tennessee and soon reach Nashville, the country music Mecca, home of the Grand Ol' Opry. As we pass through town, the stadium that hosts the NFL's Tennessee Titans is visible from the interstate.
I-24 goes across the center of Tennessee southeast across rolling wooded hills to Chattanooga, home of the Chattanooga Choo Choo, at the foot of the Appalachians. We stop for a bite to eat and ask the waitress if the weather is always this pleasant, sunny, temp in the high 50s and 60s. In a drawl barely comprehensible to northern ears, she explains that it's not always this pleasant, and when it gets down to low 30s, they can barely tolerate the cold. But today, it's like mid-April in Wisconsin.
Chattanooga, near the southern Tennessee line is near the northeastern corner of Alabama and the northwestern corner of Georgia. We cross the Tennessee line, still on I-24, into Georgia. We will have to pass through Atlanta, no efficient way to go around it.
Next week: Legacy and perils of Atlanta.
- John Waelti of Monroe can be reached at jjwaelti1@tds.net. His column appears Fridays in The Monroe Times.
