Attempting to get on track

Although I’m not supposed to be thinking about the pictures of the Wichita trip, I never printed them out, so I do think about them. Should I print them all? What’s the sense of having these photos if I don’t have them where I can see them? I put a lot of work into taking the pictures and editing them. Is that all for naught? My mind gets stuck on this stuff.

Black Water, Mo., the day I'm supposed to be writing about

But I have the book to finish writing and that’s what I need to focus on. However, my writing time turned into photo printing, then looking for information I misplaced. My hour to work on the book turned into two hours. 

And of course, there were kitty and gray rat distractions. Now I have to get on with finishing this week’s InterTown work … and I haven’t even had breakfast!

Breakthrough in Thinking about my Art

My mind is churning around art this morning after another successful Weekly Wednesday Wine-fest (WWW). (Big drinkers we are, she has one glass of wine, and I, two). WWW is an opportunity for two friends and artists to get together to talk about art and life, and the most intriguing aspect of our friendship is that we are totally opposites in our techniques, styles, and processes. Yet we have the most amazing conversations and are very supportive of one other.

I had printed photos I’d taken the past two months from which I plan to do paintings and she brought over her work sketch book of how she works with photos in her painting process. We often talk of composition, values (which I still struggle to fully understand as an artist), colors, etc. We may be opposites in how we work, but what we love to paint is similar in the types of landscapes and such.

After all these years of doing art work, I still always question, always seek to learn and evolve. My journey with art isn’t just about technique and style. My entire soul gets involved. Emotions ramble (or is it rumble? Ha ha.) throughout the process. It’s like I become part of whatever I am working on and it becomes part of me so that I am thinking about it even when I’m not at the easel. It sometimes comes through when I’m meditating, or I’ll wake in the night with a slight memory of dreaming about it.

“I take photos and paint scenes, based on what I like; what catches my attention. If I’m intrigued by the view, I believe others will be, too.” – Sasha Wolfe. 

Work in process ... still lots to do

I paint scenes that intrigue me, often using multiple photographs of a landscape to capture various nuances and angles of the area. My mind is flooded with emotions which is a mish-mash of visual colors, textures, and words. It’s weird because I don’t get clear visions and sometimes there are no words to fully describe what I am feeling/seeing. (This is the first time I’ve been able to put this into words!) It’s only when I stand at the easel with brush or pastel in hand that I start seeing clearly … And at that point, there are times when it feels like something else takes over.

However, it’s not perfect, not constant. There’s always the ups and downs, ins and outs. The emotions ebb and flow. I’m excited by the work, then discouraged feeling I’ve done something wrong. I walk away, then go back. Eventually I reach the point where I have to stop. It has to be finished. The painting tells me it is done, even if I keep finding something to “fix.” I have to let go. It’s time to move on to another painting.

Finding my Way as an Artist

I find scenes I want to draw and paint. I take multiple photos to catch different angles. I don’t “think” too much about it in the moment. I am just excited with the view and I snap away. Too often it’s a quick stop because I’m heading somewhere else, so I don’t take my time and totally “feel” the area.

“Feel the area” means sitting for a little while and catching the nuances, the smells, noticing little quirks or paying enough attention to light. And light is soooo important! But for some reason, it’s not the light that catches my attention. My delight is in the beauty of the landscape. I know light is something I need to consider in creating a good picture, but every time I am so caught up in the view of trees, water, mountains, sky, and other vegetation, I totally forget about the light in the moment of taking the photographs.

I took multiple photos along this scene to do a panoramic painting.
I was traveling with someone and we were in a hurry, so there
wasn't any time to contemplate the scene. I just snapped photos.

What am I saying here? After years of being an artist, dabbling in numerous mediums and creating by my own rules, I am now taking a closer look at honing my skills. Maybe it’s because pastels work differently from the oils, acrylics, and charcoal I’ve used in the past. I’m fascinated by the various types and textures of pastels and the wonderful array of colors. However, they are giving me multiple challenges which I find intriguing and exciting.

There are also the challenges of learning on my own and not taking classes. There are new discoveries to make in order to create a beautiful painting. I talk to other artists (most don’t work in pastel, but all have insights) and I read books and websites on pastel painting. I process conversations and readings choosing aspects that will help me in my style. I feel I am building my own separate pathway across the pond.

Last night’s reading, in a book by Richard McKinley, talked about how a plein air sketch captures the essence of the scene the way the eye does (and a photograph does not). I don’t know that I’ve ever thought of the “essence of a scene” in words and sketching. I know I feel it, but outside of excitement, I’ve not considered artistic description.

Is this part of where artistic intuition comes in? I’m often told I have that. I use photographs as a guide to create the scene, but often, once I get background down and an idea where shapes go, I just dive in and start painting. Yes, I’ll refer to the photo, from time to time, but there reaches a point where the picture is telling me what it wants.

I’m not perfect. I get stuck. I walk away, sometimes for days, before the painting calls me back. I’ll take photos of my progress to post on FB and ironically, it’s often after I post an in-process photo, that I’ll notice some nuance I have to add to the painting. Why didn’t I see that in real-time with the painting? Perhaps it’s one of those mysteries.

This entire process is also teaching me to see differently. I’d noticed years back that when I was taking a photograph with the intent to do a charcoal drawing, I’d look at it with different eyes than if I was just taking a photo of a pretty scene. That is also translating to pastels and further as I look at the photo with different eyes than I look at the painting. It’s like I’m having to learn to see in new ways. (And I still don’t have the words to fully describe and understand that … yet.)

Photography this past week

I didn’t get to the drawing boards the last couple of days, but I did continue to take photos every day. I started a Photo-a-Day challenge in February 2016. It was only going to be for 100 days, but we were having so much fun, we’ve kept going.

The challenge came in handy after moving in 2015 and all the new house renovations in 2016. My art work went on hiatus and I was floundering horribly with my photography direction. The subjects I loved to photograph no longer interested me. Of course, most of those subjects were away from the house and I was staying home more and more because of the house renovations.

The photography challenge kept my heart in the visual creative field. It pulled my focus into subjects immediately at hand around the yard and I discovered it was like going on a treasure hunt. What joy! I never know what I’m going to find and I the smallest of details in leaves, flowers, old stumps, rocks, and such are intriguing. 

Ice formations in the rushing brook remind me of chandelier crystals

The brook, which can be seen out the sliding glass door, often catches my attention with its ever-changing flow. There’s something different to focus on every day. The view from the deck lets me look down on it. However, there are quite a few trees blocking making it difficult to get good pictures. The sound, though, is amazing! The roar as it tumbles over and between rocks is sometimes so loud I can hear it in the house and any conversation outside is with raised voices. 

Last week the warm temperatures melted all the ice, but this weekend with the returning cold, the water started freezing up again. The snow receded enough I was able to get down over the embankment. Gosh, that water was rushing! The new formations of ice were squeezing the flowing water into smaller channels between the rocks. 

I am fascinated by the ice crystals on the rocks. Some remind me of ice castle caves and others chandeliers. I took over 50 photographs trying to different views or the rocks, water, and ice. It’s fascinating how quickly it changes between one day and the next and morning to afternoon.

However, I am disappointed when I import the photos onto the computer. Once again, what looks fascinating in real life, doesn’t quite capture it in a small picture. The rushing water creates a blur when I focus on the ice crystals and if I focus on the water, everything else is blurred. 

What does this mean? 

One is that I need to make better use of the new camera. It focuses a lot slower than the old which is a nuisance when photographing wildlife. 

Two is the need to take more time while shooting the picture. I tend to be a hurry-up-and-move-on type of person trusting that I can use the computer to edit (most get deleted).

Three is to not let myself get too carried away in finding a lot of fascinating things to photograph. One the one hand, it’s, like I said, a treasure hunt, and how fun is that! But on the other hand, it’s time consuming to go through to delete and choose which to edit. 

All of this said, taking pictures brings me tremendous joy and I love sharing that joy. I post my one-photo on our challenge page and others I’ll post to my Facebook page so others can see. It’s my way of finding beauty every day.  

“Defending Yourself as an Artist – Part 2”

Yesterday I started covering this topic about standing up for ourselves for our art. What are the parameters for someone being a professional artist, a real artist? Is it those who have the courage to say they are an artist? Are people only considered an artist if they have been juried into an art association or group? Are real artists only those who have studied for years under another artist or those who have gone to a credited art school? Are real artists only the ones whose work sells? Are real artists those who fit into the traditional art styles? Or is the real artist the one who just bends to the task of their work?

I’ve been asking these questions for years. I question the psychology behind the rules and beliefs because I want to understand. Are rules made to make certain artists more special than others? Is it for a sense of belonging? Is it to exclude some to make those in the group feel more important? 

Art has evolved much over the years and the doors have been blown open, and with technology, almost everyone can be some kind of an artist. Does this threaten the traditional artists? How does a painter feel when someone manipulates a photograph on the computer to print it to look like a painting? Is that real art? Is it deceiving the buyers? Or is it just another form of art? How artistic is it to push a button and have the photo look like a painting or a pencil drawing? (I’m a photographer and I question doing this, but do I have the right to say it isn’t art?)

I can certainly understand the competitive market is inundated with art. I understand that it must be tough for those who have studied for years, done the practices, honed their styles, paid their price, only to find up-and-comers jumping in without going through the years of development. I know what it’s like to work hard on a piece only to have the area so inundated with art work that is just as good that it’s almost impossible to sell unless you have built a following. 

What is it like for the traditional artists to be competing with the newer styles and media? And, if you’re in that field of the untraditional styles, how do you make your mark in the art world? What if your creative passion takes you in another direction? Does that mean you are not an artist?

I’m curious to know what others think. What questions do you have?

End of the Art Hiatus, Part 1

I lost my passion for drawing. Even my photography floundered. My heart wasn’t in it. I’d think about it; see scenes I’d like to photograph or draw, but I couldn’t seem to get my act together. My website needed updating. How could I make changes when I didn’t know where I was as an artist? My writing, too, suffered. I didn’t have definition for myself-as-artist. Do I give up and try to focus on one thing?

I can’t remember when it started. After my mum passed? Did it stop all at once or did it just wane away?

The drawing went first. The multiple drawing boards and easels with half-finished drawings sat untouched. I lost my passion for photography. All the things I used to love to photograph: old dilapidated buildings, trains, rusted things, flowers, critters, birds … I didn’t care anymore. I lost heart in my art, in myself as an artist.

While I could never give up writing, I struggled with what kind of writer I am. Just as with being an artist and not in one medium, my writing, too, covers multiple genres. I can never fit into one category (and society loves boxes no matter how “open” people try to be). 

I am not a one-medium artist! I AM writing. I AM photography. I AM drawing. (I know, most people think I’m crazy.) 

2015 became the year of selling one house and finding and buying a smaller one. It happened fast in one aspect, but it took so much energy to pack, to get rid of excess, to take care of everything that goes into the whole process. I had no room in myself for art. 

Once the physical move was completed, there were all the renovations. I had planned on revamping my art career in 2016, but the renovations went on and not only drained the bank account, they drained my energy. I did accept a challenge of doing a photo a day with a couple of others, and, of course, I journal every day. 

Then came the trip to a wedding in Wichita to which I drove all by myself; very stressful, very emotional. It wasn’t until I returned that something new began awakening in me. I made time to start reading again and, like many years ago, what saved me was reading about creativity.

I first began getting new insights into my writing with the after-the-fact lessons regarding the trip. The photo-a-day project was certainly instilling a new passion for taking pictures, especially as there was the opportunity to share the photos. I realized how important it was for me to share my work. And, I sold a couple of photos; one that had been printed in the newspaper and one that was posted on Facebook.

I’d been thinking about getting back to drawing for a long time. I started by making light sketches of my kitty, Pele. I filled pages in a small drawing book – most not very good. I decided to get back to the easel, but those drawings I’d started a couple years ago and never finished, drawings taped to the boards and other places, were not “talking” to me. I didn’t feel them anymore. 

I took down the one on the stand-up easel and taped on a blank paper. I went through photographs and chose one I’d considered awhile back and already had printed. Suddenly it wasn’t just about charcoal, and just as with this house, it’s all about color. I need color! I had been putting “hints of color” with pastel in my other charcoal drawings, but these new drawings were going to be more colorful with brighter shades.

Outside of adding those hints of color to the other drawings, I’d never really worked with pastels. I assumed, because they were kind of chalky like charcoal, they’d behave like charcoal with smudging and erasing. I assumed wrong. 

Pastels are very different. They don’t blend like charcoal, and oil pastels are different from soft pastels and do not erase at all and don’t smudge/blend well. Once a line is down with the oil pastel, it’s there! Colored charcoal pencils do not show up on pastels.

I struggled with this first-back drawing as I learned to work the charcoal and pastels together. The brighter colors, though, are exciting. Pastels are more similar to painting, in a way, than drawing. I layer, I erase for light, add more layers sometimes with color sometimes with charcoal. The drawing came together.

Then I had a revelation: My style of drawing is along the style of impressionism – and I’m not a fan of impressionism. How can I like what I’m drawing if I don’t like the style? (which I wrote about in the last blog)

What’s Holding Me Back in Writing my Book

Doreen Virtue, who wrote “The Courage to Create” says, “Write the book you wish you could read.” 

I’ve been giving this a lot of thought. What kind of book do I want to read? I like biographies, histories, and travel; mostly non-fiction (although I do occasionally read fiction). I don’t want fluff jobs. I want the truth, the authentic journeys, and not just the facts. I am intrigued by what people think, how they react, their emotional journeys. I want that personal-ness.

I’ve been mulling over issues about the latest journey; the trip to Wichita, Ks. So much of the traveling had me scared and miserable. The driving was stressful; the downpours added to the anxiety, there were crappy hotels, hours of boring driving in heavy traffic, having thoughts spiral around in my head, and getting with the wedding party and being around strangers in situations not comfortable for me. 

What’s really funny is that once I got home, I realized what a wonderful experience it was. I concentrated too much on my nervousness when I was driving and yet, the overall trip was utterly amazing and I saw some great sites (and sights). It was awesome seeing family I’d not seen in years. Yes, I would do it again – well, maybe not the same place because there are so many other places I want to see – but I definitely love exploring this country by driving.

I’m struggling with the book. I don’t want it to be boring. I don’t want to offend anyone. I want my story to show the truth (my truth, how I saw things, knowing my view of situations may not be how someone else sees them) and that it’s not all roses and great times.

So, how do I write the book I would like to read?  Number one is being true to myself and telling my story, and my story isn’t just words. The journey is also about pictures; sharing what I see with my readers. Yes, I know that, as a writer, I’m supposed to do that with words, but words are not enough, not when I also have a picture. Plus, taking photographs is part of who I am. 

Number two is that I need to stop worrying about what others will think. Like I said, I never want to offend anyone, but life isn’t perfect. As much as I want to be kind and a good person, a whole-hearted authentic person, there are times that I won’t live up to what others expect. I have to be me.

I’m figuring out some things and have an idea to help the book along. 

Driving to Wichita – Day 8

At Powell Gardens 

Day 8, Wednesday

A great detour

I wake up sick of crappy hotels. I’m tired of the ugly floors, the lack of cleanliness in corners, the questionable bathrooms, the chipped corners, peeling wallpaper, etc. Thankfully, the beds have been clean, but everything else about the room stinks!

I need to make a decision whether to continue with Comfort Inns or switch to the more expensive Hampton Inn. I check Comfort Inn website in Kansas City where I have my reservation. Today they are offering a rate of $71 per night. My reservation is for $88 for Thursday night and $106 for Friday. I call the hotel to ask for a price break and he tells me that the $71 is for online booking only and he won’t give me a discount because I already have a reservation. What? Needless to say, this is the last straw, I cancel my reservation.

I am so done with Comfort Inn! I’m sad because I really liked the ones I stayed in while traveling south, but between the fluctuating prices and the awful conditions of the rooms, I’ve had it. 

I go to the Hampton Inn website and sign up for HHonors, then call the Hampton Inn at KC MCI (airport) and book a room for three nights; one at $107 and two at $89 plus all the taxes: sales, Platte County, and an arena fee (whatever an arena fee is). There, I did it!

It’s getting on to 10 a.m. by the time I haul the luggage out to the car. I am so upset with this place I won’t even look at the desk clerk or anyone on the way by. I’m afraid if anyone speaks, or if the guy behind the desk should ask how my night was, he might not like what I’d say… or I’d start crying and feel like a fool. (I already feel like a fool for putting up with these places for seven nights.)

I stop for gas before getting on the interstate. It was raining lightly earlier and now it’s coming down hard. I still can’t believe people don’t slow down. How can they see? All I can do is concentrate on staying between the two white lines on either side of my lane. The rain passes and the driving is enjoyable. 

Missouri is beautiful. The landscape reminds me of New York and New Hampshire. I am at a loss for words in trying to compare them. They’re kinda (I like the word kinda as opposed to kind of) like back home, but there are subtle differences. Maybe it’s because New York has more wide-open farmland and rolling hills than New Hampshire, and Missouri is even more open with less trees. 

I love driving through places like this.

There are not a lot of advertised attractions. It’s too early in the day for winery tours, but a sign for Powell Gardens sounds interesting and I take Exit 31. A sign at the end of the ramp says 12 miles to Powell Gardens. Here we go again with another long drive to the middle of nowhere. I pass through Bates, Mo., make a left somewhere and travel for what feels like a long time on Route Z. Surprisingly I come out onto another major route, U.S. 50. The sign for Powell Gardens points left. Uh, oh, this is crossing multiple lanes of traffic. Thankfully, traffic is light and I easily cross the west-bound lanes to head east, and a short distance farther is the entrance to the gardens on the left and crossing back over the west-bound lanes.

Powell Gardens

Powell Gardens in Kingsville, Mo., is Kansas City’s 970-acre botanical garden. The land was purchased in 1948 by George E. Powell Sr., who later donated 640 acres to the Boy Scouts who used it until 1984. (Even today Scouts can earn badges through educational programs offered). The property was further developed into the horticultural and natural resource center it is today. The facility has year-round programs and events, miles of walking trails and gardens, ponds, fountains, and even a beautiful, nondenominational wedding chapel. Each spring the visitor education center becomes a tropical rainforest to house butterfly exhibits and special exhibits are on display every summer. 

The 12-acre Heartland Harvest Garden is known at the largest edible landscape in the U.S. and at the “farm,” visitors can climb the observation silo for fantastic views and stroll more gardens. A trolley is available to take visitors to various sections of the property.

For more information, visit www.powellgardens.com. 

I love old farms, but why no roof on the silo?

I pass an unmanned ticket booth and find a couple of parking lots. I’m not sure which is closer to the visitors’ education center and choose Lot B. It’s 11:40 a.m., the sky is till overcast and the temperature only reads 75 degrees, but it’s quite humid. The surrounding landscape is pretty with rolling hills, fields, and trees, but nothing to wow me. I can see barns and a silo over the tops of the trees and take a couple of photos. 

I limp across wide-expanse of cement to the entrance of a huge, modern, contemporary building. There are no welcome or entrance signs. I’m not sure which door to go to, but when I see people exiting one with shopping bags, I figure that’s a good place. 

Inside is a huge, cavernous building, but pleasant. A young woman at a desk near the door says admission is $10 with $1 for the trolley. The theme of the current exhibit is Jurassic Park with sculptures in areas of the park. She directs me to a back door onto a terrace where I will catch the trolley and after exploring the inside exhibits, I go outside.

I chase butterflies

The gardens around the building are beautiful. I chase a butterfly while waiting and wonder what kind of a trolley will fit up this path. I picture something small like a golf cart. I look over a chest-high wall and see the trolley waiting below. Uh, oh, how do I get down there?

The path meanders like a maze and the driver is still waiting by the time I get there. I’m his only passenger. He says he rides around all day picking up people at the various stops. First stop is at the Marjorie Powell Allen Chapel and before I say I’m not interested, he moves on. 

I love the chance to get a tour

He points out the first dinosaur sculpture. It’s nice, but more of an attraction for kids. He stops near a little pergola and tells me to take this trail, staying to the left. It’s an easy walk, circles around through some woods and over bridges, and he will pick me up over on the other side. If I need to rest, I can sit on benches along the way. 

Rest stop

He drives off and I take a couple of photographs of two Adirondack chairs covered with lichen. No, I don’t think I’ll sit in anything like this. I head off down the trail stopping often to photograph mushrooms, leaves, and vegetation. This is the kind of walking I like. There’s shade and I can hear running water. 

The mulched path comes out onto a pave trail. I take the left strolling slowly to explore the surroundings. I start to cross a wood-decked, metal-railed bridge and see two strange-looking wading birds over the side on the left. Ah, two of those dinosaur sculptures. 

About the artist: Guy Darrough, a self-taught fossil expert, created these amazing life-like sculptures for Powell Gardens’ 2016 summer exhibit. Visit www.lostworldstudios.com for more information.

Quetzalcoatlus juveniles 

Beautiful walk -- two arrows on left pointing up

Sordes

I turn to look over the other rail and two signs point up. I look up. On a tree are two stranger-looking birds. What the heck are those? Wait, they’re not moving. Oh, they’re sculptures, too. 

A nearby storyboard explains these are both pterosaur (Tare-uh-sars), flying reptiles that did not evolve into modern birds. The first two are juvenile Quetzalcoatlus (Ket-sal-koh-Aht-lus), believed to be the largest flying animal ever of the late Cretaceous period. The two on the tree are Sordes, of the late Jurassic period.

I continue on my way thoroughly relishing the peacefulness of this trail as it meanders over streams, around trees, and through lush greenery. Most the plants that flower have passed, but some hostas are still waving their bell-like blossoms atop tall spikes.

A place for peaceful contemplation

Hypsibema Missouriense, Missouri's state dino

The woodland trail gives way to a more open perennial garden. The path here is brick with a beautiful cut stone wall on one side. Ornamental grasses are mixed in with black-eyed Susans, coneflowers, and others with the names that elude me. Many flowers are past blooming, but late summer bloomers are vibrant. There’s such a variety of plants, shrubs, and trees. I love this! 

Flowers mixed with ornamental grass

Copper King hibiscus with a bug

Do I continue on the pond trail or go to the trolley stop?

The path continues to a pond. I consider going around to the other side, but I see the trolley coming from the other direction and turn back to make my way to the stop where two ladies are waiting. Barb is from Portland, Ore., and her friend, Deb, lives a few towns away here in Missouri. They tell the driver they want to go to the farm. I decide to tag along. On the way, he tells us they make their own frozen pops here with flavors like chocolate blackberry, mango peach, and more. We’ll have to try them.

Looking up inside the silo

This is the farm the top of which I could see from the parking lot. It’s not an old farm and is only a couple of barnlike structures built specifically for educational purposes. The bigger barn also offers a snack area with a covered pavilion. They experiment with different produce and grow everything on the property. Currently they are trying to grown pomegranate and plantains. 

I had to lean over to see down from topside.

The silo isn’t a real silo, but an observation tower. Deb takes the spiral staircase to the top and Barb and I opt for the elevator. What gorgeous views! We can see far out over the property and look down at the gardens close by. There are many themed gardens: vineyard, fruit trees, four quilt gardens, an authors’ garden, and a garden designed for kids. 

Quilt garden

 We descend to the ground and wander the gardens after sampling the pops. Barb and I have the peach mango and Deb has blackberry chocolate. Many plants are familiar, but some are not. I am intrigued by okra as I’ve never seen it as a plant (I don’t like okra), but it’s a pretty plant. These gardens are amazing and the array of vegetables and herbs has us oohing and ahhing. Rain begins to fall and we make our way back to the barn just in time to catch the trolley back to the visitors’ center where we say goodbyes. There are still miles of trails to be covered and I never make it to the other side of the pond.

I stop at the information desk to get the easiest directions to Kansas City. After being here for two and a half hours, there isn’t any way I can remember how to get back to I-70. As it turns out, I don’t have to go that way. The woman gets out a map and says to stay on Route 50W to I-470 to I-435 to I-70 to I-35 to I-29 and take Exit 12 for the hotel. I’m on my way by 2:10 p.m.  

Route 50 is a pleasant drive. Traffic picks up on the interstates and there are a few confusing left exit ramps. I’m never sure which lane to be in. I do not enjoy city driving and even though I was in Kansas City in 2003, it doesn’t relieve the anxiety. (Maybe the older I get, the less I am able to cope with crowded conditions.) I turn the wrong way off Exit 12 and have to back track. Then I go past the Hampton Inn because vegetation is growing up around the sign and have to turn around again.

I pull up to the hotel’s entrance. Right off the bat, it’s welcoming and looks and smells clean. The clerk gives a warm greeting, assigns Room 230, and hands me a bunch of delivery menus. The elevators are around the back and I can park there. He’ll send someone down with a luggage trolley and by the time I drive around the building, that gentleman is waiting. He even loads the trolley, wheels it to my room, and unloads it for me. Wow, what great service! He says this is one of the first Hampton Inns ever built, if not the first.

My room overlooks the outdoor pool. Ah, pretty, maybe I’ll check it out tomorrow. I settle in, call Pizza Hut for delivery, and set up the laptop to do a little work before relaxing for the night. 

End of day overview: 

Average weather: humid, heavy rain, overcast, light rain; 75/81 degrees

Places visited: Powell Gardens, Kingsville, Mo.; Sasha rating: 5

Miles driven today: 150

Trip total: 1,580

Hours driven: 5 

Hotel:  Hampton Inn-KC, MCI, Mo.; Sasha Rating: 4 – big improvement!

Meal: Pizza Hut; Rating: 3

Expenses: Gas, $19.96; meals, $35.27 (counting $3 pop at Powell Gardens), hotel: see day 11 for the three-day total

Lessons learned: Speak up when a room isn’t up to my standards. Take more time exploring beautiful areas.

Driving to Wichita, Day 7

Day 7, Tuesday

Still early for Kansas City

I’m up my usual time and thinking about the day ahead. I don’t have to be in Kansas City, Mo., until Thursday and I’m booked there for two days. I don’t know if I want to spend much more nights than that, so I can take my time again today and do some sightseeing. 

At breakfast a nice young man tells me the biscuit of the biscuits and gravy will taste better if I warm it up in the microwave first and the kitchen lady agrees. She says there’s not much to see between here and KC. My biscuit heated, I add a little gravy over the top, and put a spoonful of berry compote on the side. Wow, it is good! The heated biscuit makes it softer, tastier, and not so dry and chewy. I’ll have to remember this.

I check out of the hotel around 10 a.m. The temperature is already at 93 degrees and it’s hazy, hot, and humid. Ugh, not my favorite kind of weather. Still, after yesterday’s success, I’m on a high and eager to see what I can find today. 

However, as I drive along I-70W, also U.S. 40, the only attraction signs I see are for antique malls, cowboy boots, and wineries. I don’t consider antique stores an attraction, what would I do with cowboy boots, and it’s too early for winery tours. Letters on signs instead of road names catch my eye: F, J, H, M – I have no idea what these all mean. Sometimes U.S. Route 40 takes a slight detour and parallels the interstate as Old U.S. Route 40. I’m tempted to go that route to be able to drive at a slower pace and perhaps have more opportunity to stop for photographs. That would take much longer to get from here to there, though, and it doesn’t make sense as it’s mostly right beside I-70, so I stay on the interstate.

The attractions sign coming up to Exit 170 in Danville, Mo., advertises Graham Cave State Park. Hmmm, I wonder what’s there, and as nothing else has caught my attention, I decide it’s time for a break. A sign off the ramp directs me onto TT road which seems like a narrow service road. It amazes me how two miles can feel so far. This is a lot of farmland and trees which I enjoy. I pass a huge campground and keep going as the road becomes narrower.

I reach an area with a couple of dark brown, wooden buildings and one has a visitors’ sign. It’s small inside. I chat with a woman behind the desk while I meander around looking at the displays of artifacts found in the area and read the story of Graham Cave. It’s interesting, but what I’m seeing is leading me to believe the cave won’t be that impressive. She tells me it’s a short drive farther and the trail is 0.3 miles uphill. My spirits drop as I think, uphill and in this heat? However, I’ve come this far, I may as well check it out.

I follow her directions driving down the hill passing trail crossings. There is a parking and picnic area off to the right at the bottom of the hill. I turn left and go to the end where there is a large parking lot. It’s a little cooler down here, but the humidity is stifling. I grab the camera and walking stick and head off toward the trail. The incline is quite steep, but at least it’s paved and tree-lined providing some shade.

I begin the trek and within minutes, sweat is dripping. I push on, one tiny step at a time, stopping often to take a photo of a leaf or a plant. I hope I’m not wasting my time and that this is not just some little hole in a rock.

Then I round a corner and look up. The pavement ends at an open area in the trees and I get my first sight of the cave. Oh, my, maybe this is going to be interesting after all. 

It looked like some monster ready to swallow unsuspecting visitors.

The hill burst up a section of ground like a monster jumping out of a quiet, woodland ready to eat unsuspecting victims. Immediate attention is on its giant, dark, mouth, gaping open in an odd, menacing sneer. Two rock layers form the top lip in its wide, snake-shaped head and above, prairie-type grass forms a hairy crew cut. This section of hill is definitely head-shaped and at the back of the head, tall trees resume just as if some creature did push up out of the ground. A grassy area forms the bottom lip and a huge floor-to-ceiling chain-link fence fills the cavernous mouth, its fence posts long thin teeth. 

Not so menacing from this angle.

I slowly climb the last few yards where the pavement gives way to the large, grassy lawn. This is spooky being here alone, but as I get closer, I see someone near one of the walls. Ah, yes, the lady at the visitors’ center had said a park ranger might be here. 

Storyboards are at the edge of the grass area. One explains the formation of the cave and the types of rock: dolomite or limestone and sandstone. Another storyboard tells of the archeological efforts at the site and the importance of archeology and the recording of the information. I take photos which I will read later and I will also peruse websites for even more details when I write the story.

Graham Cave State Park

The park is 386 (websites differ in the actual figure) acres which offers camping, hiking trails, and boating and fishing on the Loutre River. Native Americans once inhabited the cave and when settlers came, they used the cave to shelter livestock. Artifacts were collected throughout the years and eventually family descendants allowed archeologists to excavate. Artifacts discovered date back to pre-Columbian times, 10,000 years. The site was designated as a National Historic landmark in 1961 and in 1964 the property was donated to the state for use as a state park.

The sandstone cave’s entrance is 120 feet wide and 60 feet high. Information storyboards are in front of the cave at a distance so as not to be in the way of anyone taking photos. 

(I am disappointed there’s not a lot more information on websites, but you can type in the park’s name to read more. It is an interesting place to visit and I didn’t explore any of the other trails which would be worth hiking. It is a beautiful area.)

I cross the grass trying to peer ahead into the darkness beyond the fence which allows visitors to get about 20 feet under the overhang. The man is scrubbing the wall on one side and he waves. I walk over.

Park Ranger, Peter Hayes, explains the problems with removing
modern-day graffiti. 

Peter Hayes, the park ranger (I forget to write down his real title), is a most interesting 25-year-old who loves history and geology. He works for the Missouri State Parks, but also liaisons with the archeological people. He also has a tie to New Hampshire. His first required internship was as a camp counselor and hike leader for fourth graders at Lake Winnipesaukee. His hikes often included trips up Mount Washington.

The fence is to preserve the archeological dig and prevent current visitors from causing more damage. His current project is removing recent graffiti (done by today’s vandals as compared to ancient drawings which need to be preserved). It’s a painstaking effort taking days to carefully remove it by layers. “The goal is to do the least amount of damage while restoring and preserving the cave’s cultural resource during the restoration project,” Hayes explains. 

I’d so like a closer look at the back of the cave. I try getting photos through the chain link. It doesn’t work, but still, this place is fascinating. I look at the different textures in the rock as Hayes explains the types of stones of the area: dolomite, limestone, sandstone, and shale. I’m a lover of rocks, too, and find what he has to say very interesting. I point out patterns on the walls. He says the divots were caused by water and that humidity and lichen turn sections of the rock green. He speculates the river ran through this area a million years ago and its swirling currents carved out this cave. I try to picture that as we are on a high hillside, but I also can see, in looking at the cave that it does look like it was carved out by water… and not just water seeping through the limestone. 

He calls this area a glade, but there’s a difference to how I always understood the term: A grassy opening within a forest. He explains how the glades were formed here. I now wish I paid more attention to what I was reading at the visitors’ center earlier. There was a whole write-up describing glades, but I thought I knew what a glade was and didn’t read it.

Glade

The term “glade” in the Midwest has more meaning: It’s usually a southwest-facing, prairie-like, rocky slope within a forest. The type of bedrock under the shallow soil creates unique vegetation and wildlife habitat due to harsh, dry conditions. 

Other visitors are now waiting to ask questions, so I move off to take pictures of the striations and patterns in the stone and the textures between the walls and floor of the cave. Hayes points out holes made by groundhogs.

Dolomite/limestone above and sandstone floor.

I love patterns and textures and colors

I make my way back to the parking lot down the steep incline of the trail. Sometimes going down is harder on my legs than going up. Another ranger is making his way up and we stop to chat. He says storms in this area come up suddenly causing flooding -- including the parking lot. I had noticed deep trenches on either side of the paved trail and wondered how hard it rained to create them. I thank him and as I make my way to the parking lot, I can hear thunder. The sky, which had been sunny and blue with puffy white clouds up top is now dark gray in overcast. Guess I’d better get on my way before the parking area floods.

It’s 12:40 p.m. and I leave Graham Caves in high spirits. This is a fascinating place to visit and I am always excited when I have good conversations. I appreciate it when people take time to talk to me. I want to know things about the areas – I can’t always remember much even when I try to write things down, but I want to know.

The sky is falling!

I’m eager to get to a hotel so I can write about the day’s adventure. The sky gets darker and darker. It’s fascinating and spooky at the same time and being in the Midwest, tornado comes to mind. There’s one section across the landscape where it looks like the sky is actually falling to the ground in a dark blue-gray sheet. A few seconds later the sky does fall – hard. 

Visibility drops to a few feet. In seconds, I go from feeling joy to being scared to death. I can just barely make out the taillights of the car in front of me. I don’t dare stop, but slow from 70 mph to 60. Others don’t even slow down! I’m in the left lane with vehicles passing on the right. I don’t dare move over. This storm passes, but another immediately follows and I get behind a semi, but he’s driving faster than I dare. The temperature drops from 86 degrees to 72.

I see a sign for Olive Garden in Columbia, Mo. I need something familiar to calm me down after the frightening rain storms. I take the exit and drive for over five blocks. I never see an Olive Garden or any place I care to stop, so I turn around and go back to the interstate. 

A couple exits later there is a sign for Applebees. This might work even though it’s still Columbia. Traffic is heavy and the ramp comes off onto a roundabout at least two-three lanes. I can’t tell because it looks like vehicles are coming at me in every direction and I have to watch everything. Rotaries scare me. I try not to panic. Part of me wants to just stop and scream. But I can’t and just stick close to the car in front of me. We cross over the interstate to… another roundabout. Arrgghhh! I have never seen anything like this in my life and nor do I want to again!

I’m really ready to have a meltdown. I keep close to another car. I can see Applebees on the left. I have to come to almost a complete stop (thankfully the cars behind me are polite) to get into the turn lane at a set of lights and a couple minutes later, I’m parked. My adrenaline is racing and the first thing I blurt to the hostess is, “What the heck is with those two rotaries one after the next?” 

Both the hostess and waitress say the roundabouts are a horror. They get complaints from customers all the time. They have to explain a couple of times how to get back onto I-70W. The thought of having to deal with those two roundabouts and the traffic have me at my wits’ end. I order a Bahama Mama. I need a drink! 

“Those are on special today; $5.95 for 25 ounces,” she tells me. “Do you want that?”

Hell, yes! I can’t say no to that. I also order my usual 4-cheese mac ‘n’ cheese with bacon. Ohhh, this is so good! I need it and totally enjoy lunch. I dread having to get back on the road, but at least I feel better. I write down some notes and try to concentrate on the good of the day. One thing enjoyable about the driving is the sunflowers along the sides of the road. Sunflowers are such happy flowers.

I leave the restaurant feeling satisfied with the meal and a lot calmer than when I arrive. It’s 2 p.m., so perhaps I won’t go on to Kansas City. I carefully make my way around the roundaboust following the waitress’ directions and soon I’m heading west on I-70. It’s good to get out of the city and into farmlands and greenery again. 

I pull off the highway when I see a Comfort Inn sign. This is Boonville. I have to listen hard to understand the desk clerk. She assigns Room 109 and I buy quarters as I need to do laundry. I drag all my luggage inside. The room is dark, dingy, and doesn’t look the cleanest. Eww, not again.

The laundry facilities are just outside the pool area. I decide to go for a swim while my clothes are in the washer. The washer and dryer are in a closet behind bi-fold doors. There’s rust on both machines. Ewww. I fill the washer, put in the detergent and the required amount of quarters then go into the pool room.

I swim to the deep end and begin the exercises. Wait, what’s that floating? It’s a bug. I look around the rim and see more dead bugs floating on the water’s surface; lots of bugs. Nooo! I look around further and notice dirt and neglect. This place is gross! I’m not staying in here. Bugs get in places, it’s understandable, but there’s a difference to a place not being cleaned or well maintained. This place has to be one of the worst I’ve ever stayed in!

I drip back to my room after toweling off quickly. Even the hallway is dingy and smells musty. All my clothes are in the washer, so I roll up towels to sit on and set up the laptop. I go back to the washer and put the clothes in the dryer (have to get more quarters and put the machine through three cycles before my clothes were dry... and they do not smell the cleanest.) 

I am homesick and depressed and not liking this trip at all. Most of the hotel rooms have not been up to my standards… I don’t expect elegance, but I want nice and clean. The price certainly costs enough. Just get me through the next few days and I can go home. I don’t want to be crying every day. Gosh, how could I have loved the traveling to Florida so much? What makes this trip so different (besides crappy hotel rooms)?

This place appalls me so much I can’t even write about it!  

End of day overview: 

Average weather: hot and humid, heavy rains

Places visited: Graham Caves; Sasha rating: 5

Miles driven today: 129

Trip total: 1,430

Hours driven: 4 ½ 

Hotel:  Comfort Inn, Boonville, Mo.; Sasha Rating: 1 – disgusting!

Meal: Applebees, Columbia, Mo.; Rating: 5

Expenses:

Meals: $31.21   Hotel: $96.80 

On Writing

My morning journaling is being interrupted with a writing issue. To be more exact, the writing about my latest trip. After the first couple of traveling days, I had decided I wouldn’t take the time to blog and journal as I had on the previous trips because I thought it was too redundant. I chose to rely mostly on my journal and the photographs.

Now I am realizing that wasn’t such a good idea. I find myself getting confused and having to waste time deciphering particulars. One problem is that mornings, when I journal, my mind is bubbling over with all kinds of thoughts. Those immediate thoughts intermingle with my recording of what went on the previous day. And now, a month later, I feel I’m wasting time trying to sort it all out and it’s taking my focus off of the day I want to be writing about. As an example, when I wrote in my journal about breakfast, was it about breakfast this particular morning or yesterday morning?

Another problem is that I am not totally descriptive in the journaling. That means I am trying to “remember” as I’m writing the story and my memory isn’t what it once was. The previous trips I took photographs of everything including hotel rooms to help in recollection and I did not do that this time. So, for instance, here I am trying to write about a crappy hotel room and I can’t recall the details. 

Also, I’m missing those exact-moment descriptions; the kind of descriptions that are filled with emotions of that moment. And, as many pictures as I do take, for some reason, I am even lacking here. I visited a huge 14,000 square foot Lewis and Clark museum in Hartford, Ill., and what do I have for photos? One; and that is of one of me taken by someone else, and the next museum I stopped, I only have a couple photos taken outside. Both of these places were amazing and I have no pictures to show that.

I don’t know if I want to say I took a backwards step in my writing travelling stories with this trip, but I don’t feel improved. This third major trip feels I missed out on something about the journey – I missed out on a lot. 

OK, maybe I can change that to say: This trip is showing me what/how I want to be writing. I let anxiety get too much in the way. It’s not that I didn’t have stress and sadness on the other journeys, but I let it really get to me this time and it affected my enjoyment of the trip. Of course, looking back and seeing all I did do, it was a very successful trip, but during the actual driving, I was often miserable and unhappy. 

I want to be able to do this again. Oh, not the exact same trip, but I do want to travel and drive. It’s all about the attitude, my attitude. And it’s all about ME, ha ha. I’m my own worst enemy. I have the choice to be happy or not.

I wrote yesterday about over-thinking – which I do a lot. But sometimes, like at this moment, it does help me understand myself more. One of my goals in writing is to be better with descriptions. I wonder what it would be like if, instead of just writing about how I was horribly scared, I described about the why and how I was so frightened (even if it was only about city driving, traffic, and rain – ha, this almost sounds like it should be a song, ha ha). 

Anyway, the biggest thing I am understanding about this latest trip is that it is a huge learning experience! Not just learning about different areas or our wonderful country, but learning about myself as a writer/photographer. I am excited about finishing the story of this trip and then finding another. I don’t know if and when I can go on another major trip, but I so, so hope so! And I so want to be able to convey my discoveries to my readers. I always want to take you with me!