Video: Amtrak past the Chicago Skyway and through South Works area
Crossing the Calumet River on an Amtrak train passing through the former South Works steel region. Chicago Skyway in the background.
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The call of sandhill cranes at Jasper Pulaski in Indiana
When the sun sets, sandhill cranes return from area fields to Goose Pasture at Jasper Pulaski Fish and Wildlife Area in Indiana. Turn your sound up. Taken Sunday, December 3, a peak time during migration.
And what a sunset.
Alfred Caldwell Lily Pool
A National Historic Landmark and a Chicago Landmark, the Alfred Caldwell Lily Pool is an oasis of calm and peace if not quiet in bustling Lincoln Park. It’s a little like the Secret Garden without the stone walls or English-style landscaping.
Serenity at Wolf Creek, Letchworth State Park
A moment of serenity and bliss at Wolf Creek at Letchworth State Park in western New York.
Relics: Perking up old-school style with the coffee percolator
I can’t count the times Garrison Keillor has worked the Lutheran compulsion to ply guests with coffee into A Prairie Home Companion. My parents weren’t Lutheran, but the moment they saw a car that looked like it might pull up in front of or next to the trailer, out came the coffee and any cookies that had escaped my foraging on the sly. It was an invariable ritual, almost as certain as death or taxes.
The first coffeepot I remember was a percolator. Although I haven’t seen one since those times, I remember that coffee percolating was a rich sensory experience — the aroma of the coffee as it percolated, the sight of the liquid shooting up against the inside of the clear lid handle, and the bubbly sound that inspired an unforgettable series of percussive notes that still evokes vintage Maxwell House coffee advertising.
I recall the parts as well — the pot, the basket, the lid, and the hollow stem through the basket, as well as the filters with the hole for the stem. For my parents, the brew of choice was Eight O’Clock coffee, bought at Loblaw’s and ground (coarse) on the spot in the store’s big grinder.
Percolators fell out of fashion in the 1970s when drip coffeemakers became popular thanks to Joe DiMaggio in ubiquitous Mr. Coffee commercials. My parents (most likely my dad, as he did the shopping) succumbed to the hype and bought a drip coffeemaker, which then took over a spot on the counter.
The once-simple world of American coffee has evolved into one my parents wouldn’t recognize — the latte grande, the espresso machines, the syrups and shots, the French presses, the “pound” of coffee sold in 11-ounce cans, the Keurig cups, and fussiness of it all. If you camp like a cowboy on a cattle drive (like Keillor’s Dusty and Lefty), you may still use a percolator because all you need is a fire to get a pot going (although these days Dusty and Lefty mostly find themselves in new-fangled cafés, complete with very noisy espresso machines).
Electric and stove top percolators are still sold. The most frequent comments on Amazon seem to be, “I would get one if I knew how to use it” and “Are there instructions?” Maybe it’s a sign of how in the 21st century we’ve become so used to our electronics doing the work and keeping the time that operating a simple coffee percolator seems not only different, but daunting.
Golconda, Burden Falls, Bell Smith Springs Recreation Area
Shawnee National Forest/Cache River road trip: Day 5
May 22, 2013
Although I don’t always appreciate the forced sociability that comes with staying at a bed and breakfast, I do like getting an earlier start without having to go out in search of food. We had another opportunity to admire the view from the River Rose Inn in Elizabethtown and the old magnolia for which the Magnolia Cottage is named, although the male proprietor called it the “garbage tree” because of all the leaves it had dropped.
We drove through Golconda, which has a scenic overlook on the shores of the Ohio, an old-style pharmacy focused on health care, a grocery, an ice cream joint, and a couple of historic buildings that we would drive past later, including Riverview Mansion Hotel.
Burden Falls and Bell Smith Springs are on the list of things you should see in Shawnee. Even with the rain, I knew that Burden Falls wasn’t likely to be running, but it sounded scenic. Like Whoopie Cat and Tacumseh Lakes, it’s several miles down country roads — so far down that you wonder if you missed it.
We did find it eventually. While the waterfall was dry, several baby waterfalls trickled over the rocks near the parking lot. It is a beautiful area, with a few but not many people around. We went only as far as the falls, a short distance, although the trail continues. As with many spots in Shawnee, you can escape from the ubiquitous sound of car and truck traffic that permeates our lives.
There was more there we could have explored, but this kind of trip is like a tasting — you can try a little of many things without savoring one for more than a few moments.
Our next stop, Bell Smith Springs Recreation Area, is “always changing,” according to the graphic at the parking lot. I’m not savvy about topography, so I figured we’d follow the trail and see what there is to see. We spent a couple of hours here and saw only a fraction of the area. According to the U.S. Forest Service:
Bell Smith Springs is one of the most beautiful recreation areas the Shawnee National Forest has to offer. It contains a series of clear, rocky streams and scenic canyons bordered by high sandstone cliffs and an abundance of vegetation unique to Illinois. The trail system consists of eight miles of interconnected trails featuring strange and wonderful rock formations, such as Devil’s Backbone, Boulder Falls and a natural rock bridge. Hiking this system of trails is a favorite activity because of the rock features, scenic overlooks, hidden springs and lush flora and fauna.
From the little we saw, it is all that. The trail features steps carved into the rock by the Civilian Conservation Corps during the Great Depression. They’re so well crafted that they don’t disrupt the surroundings, yet they’re easy to go up and down.
For a couple of hours, we soaked in the rich color and intricate patterns of the sandstone, the lush spring green of the trees, and the screams of delight coming from the unseen watering hole below. Bell Smith Springs would be lovely in any season, even winter.
Calling it an early day, we passed through Golconda again, picking up some groceries and driving through the Golconda Historic District, which includes Buel House, “preserved as an example of a working-class home’s 146-year occupation by one family.”
And so off to the Hiker cabin, leftovers, and laundry.
Let it snow
Skilled joust at Bristol Renaissance Faire
Jellies at John G. Shedd Aquarium
Take me to the faire
Work and weather permitting, J. and I set out for Bristol Renaissance Faire after a stop at Bonjour. This time we ended up on 41 in lieu of the Tri-State, which (1) didn’t slow us down as much as I would have thought, (2) J. found a less tense drive, and (3) didn’t cost anything. Because we were earlier than usual, we went to Apple Holler first, where a sign announced that there were a couple of days until apple picking began. A woman behind us seemed incredulous that picking would start so early, but one of the young women assured her that these are a small, tart variety (presumably for cooking). She seemed to accept that explanation somewhat grudgingly. And they call Missouri the “Show Me” state.
Both of us ate about one third of our lunches, by which time the sun seemed out to stay. At the faire, we scored the last of the front row bench seats for Adam Winrich’s fire whips show. and afterward J. picked up tips from a professional insulter while I explored the Black Pearl. We didn’t plan or do anything in particular, or at least I didn’t. J. bought memberships to Friends of the Faire, and we were given a tour of the garden. Nice group. We were told they have quite the appetites.
I decided Highland Park would be a good stopping point and discovered that it’s the home of Bluegrass (a restaurant), where I’d been been once before earlier this year.
When I opened the car door in the parking lot, I heard what sounded like hissing coming from the car. That’s one of the problems with hearing loss; the angle and distance of a sound changes its character dramatically. Even as I asked J. what the sound was, thinking it was a leaking tire, I got out and realized it was the deafening song (whine) of many, many cicadas, or dogday harvestflies. They sing in the evening here, too, but not in such quantity over such a sustained time. On facebook, Morton Arboretum had asked something like: “Cicadas — sweet sound of summer or really annoying?” Not surprisingly, the answers were divided. My guess is that your response depends on the density and volume of your resident cicada population. Hyde Park: Sweet sound of summer. Highland Park: Really annoying.
Bluegrass can be crowded and noisy, and I adore dining al fresco, so without thinking I’d opted to sit outside to enjoy the cicada chorus in the twilight. Their song wasn’t as intrusive as the din indoors. What I hadn’t considered — I don’t know why — was the army of other six-legged creatures that couldn’t leave us alone, including mosquitoes, gnats, and flies. I retrieved some spray from the car, which staved off some but not all. Poor J.
He went with barbecued bison ribs, while I ordered ribeye (rare) with bleu cheese crust. Mmmm. More leftovers.
At the Flamingo, I watched the Doctor Who episode, “The Waters of Mars.” Afterward, I realized, I needed a drink and a shower. Both made me nervous.