WE LOVE AMERICA - WYOMING

As we near the end of this marvelous trip, we found a comfortable place to stay in Cheyenne, Wyoming, marred only by the fact that when we sought out a place to eat, all the restaurants were packed with lines of waiting diners, salivating for the chance to have the next open table and indulge in gustatory fantasies. Rather than hang out in a prolonged state of anticipation, we elected to hit Arby's and had a pleasant meal together back in our room.
The next morning dawned clear, clean and bright as we began the final day of driving. The Yukon was filled with gas, checked and ready to roll. Leaving this cowboy town, we powered up the on-ramp to the quintessential American Freeway, I-80 and headed west. We rode through the rising foothills of the majestic Rocky Mountains. Fields and crops gave way to sagebrush, rolling, open hills and increasing stands of dark green pines. The Medicine Bow Mountains, one of the many ranges in the Rockies, opened before us with infinite vistas, deep blue skies and wisps of streaky white clouds brushed onto the horizon.



I-80, that twisting, concrete and asphalt ribbon that stretches from coast to coast, led us higher and higher into the mountains. Each hill we crested led to short downward coasting stretches of road then on to another climb, even higher than the one before. At last we reached the summit and indeed, the highest point on the entire length of this great, country connector. It was fitting that a visitor center and monument had been erected on that very spot. One might be surprised that a bust of Lincoln dominates this location. Back in the 1930's, a visionary man dreamed of a coast to coast highway and his wish was realized when the nation built just such a road, the first ever in this land to reach from the Atlantic to the Pacific Oceans, and it was called the Lincoln Highway. It was just a two lane road, marked by posts boasting a flat white square with a big blue "L" on it. I-80 now flows along almost the same route as the original Lincoln Highway and that is why Mr. Lincoln gazes, from its highest point, on the busy, rushing traffic that carries people, goods and produce across this great nation.



Lincoln appears somber and contemplative to me, as if he sees how the country he saved has become great and yet how threatened and struggling we are as a people facing huge and complex daily challenges, worries and dangers.



Standing right under Lincoln's visage, we could look along the freeway east as it descends the mountainsides onto the Great Plains and winds towards the wonderful states and locations we have so much enjoyed over the past 3 weeks.



Again we turned west and drove downhill, but remained on the high country of Wyoming, scoured by almost constant winds and home to cattle, antelope, coyotes and patches of whirling, giant windmills, skylined on the ridge, pulling in energy as the wind jousts with the massive blades.



Driving was easy and the miles flowed past. It was a pleasure to feel the freedom of the road as we slipped through country both stark and beautiful and could see the familiar Uintah Mountains become more and more defined and majestic. At last we crossed the border past Evanston and found ourselves once more in Utah. Here, the freeway follows some of the Mormon Trail and leads through Echo Canyon, perhaps at its loveliest this time of year. The afternoon sun seemed to heat the stone so that it glowed with warm orange and highlighted the green of the trees and brush. For us it spoke a welcome and the comfort color of this great State.



Past Echo Reservoir we drove, through the twisting, turning canyon beyond Wanship and into
view of the autumn painted mountains which cup Park City in embracing wraps of green and g0ld, speckled with red. Down Parley's Canyon and into The Valley, home at last.



Our love of this land has increased many fold and gratitude fills our hearts. We are grateful for the freedom to travel almost 6000 miles and not show a passport or be stopped and questioned. This nation is rich in beauty, produce, people and potential. We felt safe and welcome everywhere we went. Wherever we traveled, we were touched by the vast number of American flags flying above city centers, shopping malls, homes, farms and even on cars and motorcycles. The citizens of this land are patriotic by nature and love their country. Our hearts join with those who recognize the privilege it is to live in this unparalleled nation. It has been blessed by the hand of God and is founded on the blood of patriots who were willing to give all, including their lives, that we might live free! We should give daily thanks that we are Americans. Nowhere else on earth do people enjoy what we have, and we too often take those blessings for granted. We are an exceptional land, nation and people.
Our journey was spectacular and yet we only touched a small portion of what is open to us. We will travel again, but are also glad to be home with family and friends. We deeply love America.
God Bless the USA!

WE LOVE AMERICA - NEBRASKA

In Fort Smith, Arkansas, we looked at the map and had a revelation, an epiphany as it were. If we continued on our present course and comfortable speed, we would probably not get home until the middle of the next week. Unfortunately, we did have some responsibilities (such as going to work) and so we decided that a change in direction was indicated. We decided to back track a few miles and turn north on I-29 and head for Omaha and points west. Our course north pulled us into the beautiful, rolling hills of western Arkansas and then up and up and up over the spine of the Ozark Mountains. Small hamlets and towns dotted the hills, looking like a spoon had scooped out some of the rich forest to open a few meadows and mounds where houses could be plopped and fastened. Some farms lay on steep hillsides and looked as if a gentle shaking would slide them down as if on skis.
We found ourselves on one of this country's truly scenic byways. This beautiful four lane masterpiece flowed gently over one hilltop after another, climbing higher and higher in a rich forest panorama sprinkled with autumn colors.
We topped out at Fayetteville, AR and found a city, scattered over a set of goose bump hills and sprawling out to dip into shallow valleys and crevices. It was right on top of the mountain range and the view spread out, down the mountains and onto northern Arkansas and the Missouri plains. We coasted down the mountainsides and accelerated out onto fertile farm land. It was perfect for corn, soybeans (again) and scattered plots of watermelons and pumpkins.



But as we crossed from Arkansas into Missouri, we began to see large fields, dry and cracking in the sun and looking like abandoned lake beds. Then we would pass another field and it would be covered with water, scattered corn stalks slumped over, their leaves stirring faint wavelets in the wind. We kept questioning why so much rich land had become so desolate, what had happened here? We were driving along the east side of the Missouri River and we later found that last June it surged out of its banks in a devastating flood. In Montana, the river's origin, snowfall last winter was 212% of normal and the spring stayed cold until June. Then the weather rapidly warmed and to make the situation worse the upstream mountains received as much rain in one month as they usually get in a whole year. All that water rolled downstream like an inland tsunami until the banks and levees could hold no more and acres and acres of farms filled with water. For the Corps of Engineers, it was a question of which levees to dynamite to release the pressure but cities and population won over farm lands. It was a sobering manifestation of nature's power and impact.
Finally we slipped into Omaha and found a place to lay our weary heads. In the morning, bright crisp and blue, we decided that we could not miss the Mormon Trail Visitor Center at Winter Quarters.



It was at this location, across the Missouri River from Council Bluffs, that the Mormon Pioneers, driven out of their lovely and cherished city of Nauvoo, abandoning beautiful and sturdy homes, found refuge on Indian land. In a terrible journey of suffering and deprivation they made their agonizing way, in the depth of a ferocious winter, across the entire State of Iowa. Crossing the Missouri River on ferry boats, they parked their wagons, put up drafty tents and crafted dugouts and a few sod roofed log cabins to create Winter Quarters, a haven from persecution. The winter was hard, with sticky mud, snow and merciless ice and devastating disease stalked and ravished the Saints. On a hill overlooking the camp, day upon day, body after body was buried. Over 600 suffering souls left this earth that winter, tragically, many of them little children. But it was also from here that the Pioneers turned their faces west and with wagons and handcarts, marched into the wilderness of the Great Plains to carve a new and safe home in the Rocky Mountains.



We owe an eternal debt to these faithful ancestors and our hearts were touched and softened by the knowledge of the agony and suffering they endured and the fire of faith that powered their triumph. Those who endured the trial of Winter Quarters rose out of that frozen cauldron with a renewed testimony, a mighty knowledge that God knew and loved them and a bright, fixed and firm commitment to go on to Zion.



It is fitting that next to the Pioneer Cemetery, a temple now stands whose spire reaches heavenward and the Angel Moroni sounds the trump to usher in the Dispensation that will welcome the Savior again. The struggles and suffering of the Saints buried here are over, and a solid symbol of Eternal Life looks upon their resting place. The oak trees stand straight and tall, sheltering this hallowed ground.



Gravestones are weathered and worn and most of the resting places lie unmarked, waiting that glorious day when eternal light will explode from the east and the graves will yield up their immortal dead.



Avard Fairbanks sculpted this statue of a pioneer couple, weeping in anguish over the little open grave of their child, taken from them by unyielding death, which could not be forestalled. Now they must tenderly and gently cover their precious babe in the cold and dark soil. It is a fitting and touching tribute, standing in a place of honor in the cemetery.



With full hearts, we left Winter Quarters and Omaha and sped west into the Great Plains of America. Field after field of ripened corn, bounded and defined by windrows of green, spoke of the breadbasket and fertile power of this choice nation. We have the potential to feed billions from the produce of this chosen land. God has smiled on this continent and country.



Ranch houses dot the path of the freeway and many of them have their own beautiful lake right at their doorstep, stocked with fish. Most have a little dock and small boat to enjoy a private, quite moment, floating in peace and perhaps enticing an unwary fish to come home for dinner. Our drive was smooth, the miles clicking past faster than any other time on our journey and the wide open spaces refreshed the spirit and lifted our hearts.

WE LOVE AMERICA - ARKANSAS

We once again drove over the border into Tennessee, which welcomed us with intermittent clouds and a sky spattering drops of rain. Nevertheless, we love Tennessee, with its rich forestland and Autumn colors creeping into the leaves. We stopped at this delightful visitor center just across the state line and loved the fall decorations and its location, perched on the top of a grassy hill, a sweet morsel on a mound of green. The inside was filled with information and decorated to welcome travelers. We finished in Jackson, TN and spent the night so we could cross the Mississippi during daylight and also see some of Memphis as we passed.



In the morning, near Memphis, we located another visitor center, focused on Memphis and its surroundings. This is Elvis country, music central, fountain of rock and roll and the blues. We purchased a CD of Elvis music and enjoyed his mellow sounds as we swung over the muddy, brown Old Man River and into Arkansas. As we prepared to leave the center, which was, by the way, located a stone's throw from and beautiful, modern LDS chapel, we saw a cool little tortoise, slowly trying to sneak across the road. He had positioned himself exactly on the asphalt so that it would be easy to become road kill or a tortoise frisbee. We just had to stop and move him to safety. As soon as I touched him, the legs shot inside the shell, the neck and head retracted and a frontal shell flap slammed shut. I gently lifted him and placed him on the grass beside the road and waited for him to come out again. But he must have turned on the TV or got a good book because he didn't open the door or peer out again while we were there. I thought he was a great find!



Notice the lovely shell pattern on Mr. Tortoise.

On the other side of the Mississippi River, we rolled into the Ozark Mountains again and the clouds rolled in with us. They lowered and darkened and the wind began to blow and soon we could see lightning flashing ahead of us. At first a few drops hit the windshield and triggered the slow swishing of the wipers, but then the rain got heavier and harder until we found ourselves in a true blinding downpour. The wipers struggled, going as fast as they could, to even make it possible to see. Speed dropped to a crawl and it was literally follow taillights and a road stripe to even move and I had to turn on the flashers for safety. I told Ronda to watch the sky for it to turn greenish and the clouds to start rotating, but no such luck, just a powerful rain storm. After about 20 minutes, the curtain of rain eased and we moved on again.



This shows the lighter part of the storm.

Advancing further west, the clouds began to lift and break and we moved past the thunderous, wet front and into a beautiful day. The dark green forest began to thin and more and more farmland spread before us. Some was corn, some soybeans but much of it was cotton. At the visitor center we learned more about this long historied crop and how it is farmed. When the cotton bolls become large enough, the field is sprayed to kill the plant and as the leaves and stems dry out, the bolls burst open, bulging with fresh, white cotton. Some cotton fields were still green, but acre after acre unfolded as a brown and white blanket, laid out between verdant and colored trees, waiting for the harvester.






Starting to dry and "pop", inedible popcorn.



This is the harvester! Remember the movie "Cars" and the tractor tipping episode? Picture this beast, glaring eyes on the cab and the cutters in front snapping back and forth, rushing through the cotton, leaves and stems flying and snow white cotton puffs blowing into the catcher cage. Don't get in its way! We loved learning about and seeing the cotton fields, the fertile land and the wide open expanse of Arkansas and the American heartland. On to Fort Smith, AR for the night.

WE LOVE AMERICA - NORTH CAROLINA

It was with some regret that we realized that the time had come to return home and end this wonderful journey. We have seen this country from a new perspective and have a greater appreciation of what a wonderful and diverse place we have in which to live. Our sense of love for America has grown many fold and we are thankful.
Driving out of Wilmington, we headed into the heart of North Carolina, a state wrapped in forests and hills, cupping little towns and villages in its midst and providing a lush environment to foster a love of the outdoors and nature. Initially we chose not to follow the freeway, but take other roads, leading through the woods and farms and we enjoyed the changing colors as Autumn creeps and nestles into the bushes and trees preparing for the blanketing cold of winter. Everywhere we looked, the tints and tones of leaf change enriched the visual senses.






Along the way, we passed through little towns with names such as Whiteville, Lumberton, Laurinburg and Hamlet, reflecting the founders, the industry and the ethnicity of the area. As we traveled deeper into the forested country, more and more logging trucks eased onto the road, heavily laden with freshly cut pine trunks, wafting over us the sweet odor of pines. The choice of the town name of Lumberton became obvious. Rivers and streams threaded through clefts and defiles, moistening the air and refreshing the surrounding plant life.
Since it was the harvest season, we were treated with the gift of finding a wayside stand, bursting with produce and the goodness of this productive land.



Inside the stand, we found onions, apples, potatoes, yams, sweet potatoes, peppers and plums and a cornucopia of other offerings. Tomatoes, turnips and fine orange pumpkins spoke of the local bounty. The shelves were lined with bottles of apple butter, purple sweet potato butter, cherry and apple cider and Scupernog, a cider like, golden liquid, found mostly in the south. We contented ourselves with purchasing a few apples and a bottle of sweet potato butter. We passed on pickled eggs and cucumbers, onion relish and other enticing bottles. If turned loose, I might have purchased too much, simply to try and test the tastes and to increase the IQ.



Wending our way higher into the mountains, each twist and turn unveiled more color and beauty and we thrilled with the Lord's painted handiwork, His palate graced with colors almost impossible to duplicate.
We noted a sign indicating a school for the development of arts and crafts, sponsored by North Carolina University and offering a gallery and gift shop. The location, high in the hills, proffered the chance to find more lovely items and to add to our experiences. We left the route we had followed, and wove up and up higher into the hills. We rounded a bend and before us spread the magnificent Lake Norman, tranquil and lovely in the rounded, forest carpeted hills. However, the road passed over an arm of the lake, on a towering bridge currently undergoing reconstruction. As we drove across, the bridge rattled and creaked and seemed to be swaying and dancing with the vibration. We both questioned its soundness, but safely got to the other side, with some sense of relief, until we realized that we had to retrace our course.



A picture snapped crossing the bridge does not do justice to the view or the anxiety. We could understand the need for reconstruction.



When not on the bridge, the view lifted our spirits and added to the portfolio of rich beauty we have seen and experienced. The art center focused on the works of the students, many of which, especially the glass and wood works, were wonderful. But those for sale were priced beyond a reasonable level and while we enjoyed the interlude, we left without a purchase. We continued on through this spectacular, mountain richness to stop in Asheville, NC. So far, our whole journey has been an excursion through the wonders and creations of God and a land of greatness which we love more and more.

WE LOVE AMERICA - NORTH CAROLINA COAST

Wilmington, North Carolina beckoned us to head north and we arrived on a Friday afternoon. The drive took us through the coastal flatlands, so often battered by huge storms from the Atlantic but for us, it was tranquil, inviting and relaxed with no evidence of damage. Along the road were scattered, cobbled together stands, selling woven grass baskets, a local craft. We often saw elderly African-American women sitting on little stools in the shade, deftly twisting and turning the grass leaves into works of art.
We found our hotel in Wilmington and settled in for a weekend stay. In the morning, refreshed, our first priority was to go to Wrightsville Beach, a short drive away. We crossed the inter-island waterway and found parking along streets dusted with sand and lined with pastel colored beach homes, perched on stilts and clustered only two blocks deep about the barrier island. We clambered up a low lying dune and before us spread one of the most lovely beaches we have ever seen. It was clean and white, the water blue and inviting and waves, large enough for surfing, rolled onto the shore, leaving a layer of fresh seashells at water's edge. Even though it was a Saturday, the beach was far from crowded, and beachgoers were only sparsely scattered about, basking in the sun, playing frisbee or splashing in the water. A few surfers in wetsuits, looking like shiny black seals, tested their skills on the rolling combers. We needed no jackets and reveled in the soft feel of the beach.



We walked along the water edge and the waves reached out to our feet, wrapping them in liquid, suddenly cold enough to make you gasp. But the sand was soft and gentle and sloped into the tumbling waves as if enticing them to rush in further and further.



Sea birds stepped and teased in a dance with the waves, running in and out to feast on little creatures carried and exposed by the persistent foaming water.



The choicest of homes, on stilts, like a lady lifting her hem to avoid a puddle, had the blessing of a infinite view of an ocean and beach, embracing each other in a never ending but always changing panorama.



She is waiting for the sand to slip and sink under her toes to draw the feet deeper into this idyllic place, trapping one's mind and heart on the spot. Just being there, with the clean, fresh air and tempting beach, relaxed the soul and rested the spirit. We felt we could sit and watch ocean, beach and people for a long time. But other events also drew our interest.

This weekend was Wilmington's River Fest, a celebration at the city waterfront, remembering the pirate past, shipping port vitality, and most likely an excuse to party, eat all the fried food possible and just mingle. We went and found that it was like a linear county fair, stretched out along the waterfront. One of the displays featured antique and modified cars.



Posing by our Yukon to demonstrate the impact of 3000 miles of driving :) Note the colorful hot rods in the background. We strolled about and avoided the fried onions and Twinkies, huge roasted turkey legs along with piles of ribbon and butterfly fries and shrimp Po-boys, to stop at the bandstand and listen to pop music and watch dancers, reminiscent of Idaho and Utah dance groups. Our first day in North Carolina was a contrast in sights, sounds and foods, but wrapped us in its charm and welcome.

WE LOVE AMERICA - SOUTH CAROLINA

We finally made it to the East Coast, to the lovely, antebellum city of Charleston. The air is soft and makes warm caresses on the skin. The air is clean, scoured by ocean breezes and the atmosphere relaxed and easy. Downtown Charleston is filled with homes and buildings, tinged with the patina of age and yet it is a city bursting with young people, bustling about attending college and enjoying the sweet life of the South. Music twirls into the streets from pubs and restaurants and the smells of southern cooking tickle the nose. It is a city of ease and enjoyment. We ate a southern supper and Ronda had her first meal of fried alligator. It was a little chewy, but a lot tasty. The city murmurs to a person to relax and bask in its comforts. But it is also a city rich in history and its character has been shaped by its past. It is here that secession reared its head and voices clamored for release from the Union and the right of South Carolina to pursue its own course of plantation living and a slave economy. It was in the harbor of this vital port city that the first shots of the Civil War rang out, an attack by the Confederacy on Fort Sumter.



Charleston Harbor is a wide expanse, still crisscrossed by ships large and small, many for pleasure but many others bringing tons of goods to the States. The small island visible on the right, in the background is Fort Sumter. It is a man-made island, built to support a fort to protect the harbor. By war's end, it was reduced to rubble and now has been restored enough to remind us of the causes and costs of that terrible conflict.

Leaving Charleston after a too short visit, we headed up the coast. The road wound through green fields and woods, over streams and rivers and along oak lined traces rich with the feeling of waiting for horses and carriages to again roll past. Our destination was Middleton Plantation, cleverly founded on a bend in the Ashley River, up stream from the coast. Founded in the 1700's as a rice plantation, it was home to 5 generations of Middletons, each of whom cherished and fostered the magnificent location. However, again the Civil War reached out to crush this lovely place. The mansion house was looted and destroyed, leaving only a side building even partially standing. In the 1960's, a descendent inherited the plantation and has restored it. Now it is a model of how genteel living was in 1860. The founder had English planners design and build formal gardens which were later expanded in the Romantic style. Now they are some of the most beautiful gardens in the country. We spent hours strolling the grounds and enjoying its loveliness.



Standing on the ruin of the mansion house, we looked down the formal green and across the "butterfly lakes" to the Ashley River. One could sit and gaze for hours on this view and the river drifting by.



Scattered over the plantation are ancient live oaks, some dating back to the 1600's, with huge trunks, draped with spanish moss and limbs stretching out so far that they droop to the ground as a support for their massive weight.



The owner has deliberately kept what is called a cypress lake, representative of what the area was like when the founders settled. Straight, tall cypress trees rear up from the swampy water and spread out their roots which pop up in knobby "cypress knees" surrounding the tree. Herons and water birds love the place, crows chorus in caws and the sun kisses the water.

We found South Carolina to be warm and inviting, gently tempting you to set aside the stress and bustle of our rushing lives and breathe deeply of the soft peace of the South. Another favorite state among the marvelous Union.

WE LOVE AMERICA - TENNESSEE

It was a bright morning in Knoxville, TN with the sky blue and the weather warm and inviting. We decided that we would visit the Great Smoky Mountains National Park. After a short transit on the freeway, we headed south to the park. We traveled through little towns like Severeville, Pigeon Forge and Gatlinburg. However, whatever little towns they may have once been, now they are transformed, Dr. Jekyl-like, into a long row of tourist traps. It was like driving a garish gauntlet of geegaws and lame excuses. Whatever one could think of as a way to entice tourists into spending money was visible. They have even built a life-size replica of the Titanic. (How this fits into the theme of the area is beyond me!) Gatlinburg is not quite so bad. There are a plethora of motels and restaurants, and little shops, but at least an attempt was made to represent a quaint hill town. Indeed, they have prepared for visitors with festive and fun decorations--pumpkins, scarecrows, cornstalks, and bright orange ribbons which we found nice and even pleasant.



But, as soon as you leave Gatlinburg, it is a whole new world. Gone is the commercialism and blaring demands for your money and the peace of the Great Smokey Mountains washes over you like a refreshing breeze. Near the park entrance is a loop road which became our first excursion into the Park. The road is narrow and winds up into wooded hills, past tumbling streams and sun dappled meadows to see how the original settlers of this region farmed and lived. At one place, there was a mountain cabin built the 1830s. Originally built as a one room cabin, as the family grew, another half was added with porches. You can clearly see the 2 parts when you look at the roof. We learned about the resourcefulness of the family who lived there. They had a nearby spring and funneled water to the house down a wooden flume, into a hand carved wooden sink and the water also turned a small grist mill to grind corn. They made use of all they had, in fact, the saying goes that "they used all of the pig except the squeal". The ground is rocky, hilly and how they farmed and lived was tough and creative. They had to cut their own roads and truly fend for themselves. We were impressed with the hardiness of the "hill folk".



It is a beautiful but hard location and we don't envy them.



Is this the woman of the house????

Driving through the park uncovered gorgeous vista after vista with enough of the changing fall leaves to sprinkle the hills with color and magic. In the middle of the park, a side road swings higher into the hills, twisting and turning up and up, passing ravines, steeply wooded hills and one grand portrait worthy view after the other. At last it lifted us to the highest point of the National Park, Clingman Dome, with a view fading off as far as you can see.



From on top you can clearly see why they are called the Blue Ridge Mountains.

Coming down from the Dome, we went south through the park and turned east on the winding and scenic Blue Ridge Parkway. We oohed and ahhed at almost every turn of this awesome drive which reaches into Virginia. You can't go fast, but why would you when the scenery grabs your eye and your breath catches so often.









This spectacular visit to the Great Smokey Mountains National Park was truly worth the time. This park has more yearly visitors than any other national park. If you wish to go you can also take a day and visit Dollywood, the theme park by Dolly Parton. The brochure looks like it might be fun, but you would have to endure "the gauntlet" to get there. I think that traveling this time of year is perhaps the most beautiful of all and God's hand is clearly seen as he majestically transforms this earth for another year.

WE LOVE AMERICA -KENTUCKY

After a night in Louisville, we headed into Kentucky and to Lexington. We stopped at a visitor's center just over the border and were given a map for a scenic road that took us past the renowned blue grass horse farms. As we left the freeway and entered this magical country we were astounded at the beauty. In Bob's words, "Be still my beating heart!" The farms stretched for acres and acres with neat white or brown fences defining expansive, manicured fields of green grass. On hills overlooking the fields were large barns and homes built of limestone blocks with cupolas on top. Often the barns were larger than the homes and reflected the deep interest and concern the people have for their prize horses . In the fields were beautiful horses of all imaginable colors, peacefully grazing. We saw sorrels, bays, greys, blacks, dappled, pinto and they all looked healthy, vigorous and magnificent. The grassy fields had the appearance of having been maintained and carefully tended by major league baseball groundskeepers. For the horses, it seemed as if God had spread his choicest part of the earth at their hooves.



Notice this beautiful, large barn/stable and the expensive, large training racetrack. Even the barn is better landscaped than many homes I have seen.



Our pictures do not do justice to the majesty of what we were viewing.



Along we drove, exclaiming on the beauty and wonder of what we were seeing. We came to the Kentucky Horse Park, a place where visitors can see prize-winning horses, an entertaining show of different breeds of horses and learn about the history of horses in Kentucky, how they are cared for and their impact on our society. Even today, they play a significant role in our country, for both pleasure, racing, etc. We spent a couple of wonderful hours in the park.



This picture confirms that we have been horsing around on this trip! This was taken at the Kentucky Horse Farm. It was developed on a significant part of one of the large horse farms in the area. It is very well done with displays, a museum and gift shop, dressage field, race track, etc. We gained a much better appreciation for this part of the country and the marvelous horse history it has.



As we concluded our visit to the KHP, we sat in a hexagonal arena and were treated to videos of famous horse races. The races were exciting and the horses awesome. After each video, a groom led into the arena the actual horse that raced, now retired and living comfortably at the park. These beautiful animals have performed as the animal athletes they really are and have earned their retirement.
After that show, we went to another arena and were treated to the "Parade of Breeds". They brought out five different horses and told us of their history and importance. The Morgan Horse is the first true American breed and is not a large horse, but very strong and fast. Today they are used by the National Forest Service and many police departments. We were shown a miniature horse then a Chincoteague pony, an Andalusian or pure bred Arabian and finally a special breed called a Spanish Norman horse, seen above.
We loved the Kentucky Horse Park and loved the horse country of Kentucky and the Lexington area. It would be so easy to live in this area just to be in such beautiful country. This whole nation is too wonderful to describe adequately and we are impressed with the gift God has given to this people. I hope we can continue to demonstrate our gratitude to our Father in Heaven.

WE LOVE AMERICA - INDIANA

Our gentle drive into Indiana rewarded us with a changing landscape as farmland metamorphed into terrain that is more hilly and much more wooded. Indeed, we began to enter thick deciduous forests, green and inviting. The undergrowth was not excessive and you could see deep into the rich woods and ramrod straight trees. We left the freeway to visit the National Abraham Lincoln Boyhood Monument. It was in this location where he grew up, living here for 14 years. We learned more about Lincoln and watched a film depicting his family history, activities and the events that shaped his growth into manhood. Lincoln's father moved his family here from Kentucky when young Lincoln was about age 7, and this is where his beloved mother died and is buried. When he was 9, she died of "milk sickness" or "the trembles", a poisoning from eating the meat of an animal that had fed on the white snakeroot plant. Abraham and his father were devastated, but Mr. Lincoln returned to Kentucky and was remarried to a widow, who marvelously filled the empty places in the hearts of both Lincoln's. Both mothers were very influential in his life and Lincoln gave them the credit for all that he became in life. At a young age he became very proficient with an ax and learned to work hard, splitting rails, chopping trees and farming. Tutored by both mothers he also learned to read and developed a love for books and knowledge. However, his favorite activities were telling stories, jokes and speaking. His sense of humor was renowned and served him well in later years.



This is a view of the Memorial taken from near where Nancy Hanks Lincoln lies buried.



This path led through the woods, past oak and walnut trees and patches of white snakeroot (seen on each side) to a farm replicating those of the early 1800's.


The pumpkins on the fence posts make a nice seasonal Halloween touch! If only faces had been carved into them. This small cabin is representative of those built during the time Lincoln lived here.

We loved the rich greens of the forest, the tall, straight trees and the solid human timber created by this challenging life in the Indiana woods. Our nation has been blessed by the greatness of men touched by nature and the hand of God.