Yesterday I read the chapter in which Least Heat Moon arrived in Newport, Rhode Island. He likes to give a little history about each place where he stops, and of course, Newport has more than a little history to recount. But in this case, he gave a little vignette that was so wonderful and thought-provoking that our friend Ben has to share it with you.

First, a bit of background. George Washington was so revered after the Revolution that he often made ceremonial progresses---trips with welcoming parades in every town---through the former Colonies just so people could see him. And they turned out in droves everywhere he went, clearly aware that they were seeing a piece of living history. It's hard to imagine who could inspire a turnout like that today, or even within (relatively) recent memory. The pope? Elvis? Simon Cowell? Dale Earnhardt? Bob Marley? JFK? The Beatles? Not even close.

Back to the story: Least Heat Moon recounts how, when Washington was parading through Newport, a little boy, held up by his father for a better view, finally got a glimpse of Washington. Surprised, he blurted out, "Why, Father! General Washington is a man!" Hearing the carrying, high-pitched voice, Washington replied, "Yes, only a man."

Only a man. This made our friend Ben do a little time-travelling, back to the days when kings were routinely regarded as more than men, when they were considered to rule by Divine right. Which is to say, that God Himself had set their line upon the throne, and what man is to question God's own choice? Thus, weak men and even madmen were allowed to keep their thrones, and regicide was considered an act against God as well as man. And thus it took a revolution to bring down a monarchy.

We could take the time machine still farther back, to Imperial Rome or Pharaonic Egypt, where rulers, living and dead, were worshiped as gods themselves. Or to the heroes of the Golden Age, where partial divinity was the birthright of almost all great heroes: Cuchulainn, fathered by a god; Achilles, born of a goddess. Clearly, no mere mortal could possess such prowess and power, could have been set so far above his fellow mortals simply through exceptional skill, unwavering focus, and fortunate circumstance. Here we have the most direct form of divine intervention.

With the exception of that very young child, no one in Washington's day believed that he was more than human. But everyone felt that he was larger than life. (Which, by the way, was literally true: In a time when the average male height hovered around 5'8" or 9", Washington towered over almost all of his contemporaries at 6'4". His heroic stature was definitely an asset, and he used it to his advantage throughout his life.)

The former colonists were quite ready to appoint him America's own King George by popular acclaim, too. It was perhaps Washington's most heroic deed that he walked away from kingship, and even walked away from the presidency, which could certainly have been his for life, after only two terms. In his day, this was recognized throughout Europe, by monarchs, politicians, and intellectuals alike, as an astonishing, unheard-of thing: to hold power, and the potential for absolute power, and simply to walk away.

But George Washington recognized that, for America to be truly free, to become the republic that the Founders envisioned and that so many patriots had fought and sacrificed for, it had to be free of him. And he had to be free of it---free to return to his beloved Mount Vernon, to enjoy the companionship of family and friends, to ride over the land he loved. To get back to the garden.

Yes, Washington was "only" a man. No god sired him, no goddess gave birth to him. (Though his mother, Mary Washington, was apparently quite a force to be reckoned with in her own right.) He did not rule by Divine right; he did not rule at all. But his ideals, and his pursuit of them, were truly heroic, in the best sense of that word. Our friend Ben can only wish that we had more "mere" men like him today.       

Nothing like taking the scenic route...and meandering as much as we can get away with it. That all came to a sudden stop once my Mom got behind the wheel of the Liberty in North Carolina. She was on her way home to Granville, Ohio and we were not going to be going slow. We did stop to smell some irises once into Ohio. lol

But I am getting ahead of myself. I left on a Saturday from Orlando (must have been May 17th?) just over a week ago. Boy, feels like so much longer now. I only went as far as Genny's lovely cracker cabin in the swampy woods on Newnan's lake in Windsor. A stone's throw from Gainesville. Just far enough to feel like my holiday had begun.

This is where the clawfoot tub from the storefront is now living...on Gen's back porch where Moon Pie has been know to climb in, looking for paper to eat. ~grin~ He is a paper hound. Leaves shoes alone but guess he is a literary dog. Not surprising considering his mistress.

And here is a lovely profile of the handsome Mr. Moonpie....

With as chilly as I have been since leaving Florida (not complaining...I an liking prolonging Springtime) but Gen's woodburning stove might be nice to have around. For Warmth

The magnolia bloom I picked in downtown Gainesville for Genevia and I to enjoy this year. I saw so many of them while driving through Georgia. Just tree after tree...covered in those blooms as big as pie plates.

One more photo taken before I left town....one I did not take! Love the effect!

This one....I'm not as swirly. I like the smile.

Harley & me....everybody will attest that I am more into dogs than bikes. We both don't mind the whole blurred thing. I hope Harley doesn't mind. ~smile~ I think he is admiring the paintings or he's checking out my feet.

I left Gainesville late in the day...my favorite time of day. My last meal in Florida was at Blue Highways in Micanopy...seemed awfully fitting considering the paths I hoped to trace in the coming weeks. The moon was coming up over Georgia....as seen from a rest area here. I drove until about 11 pm and found a room with wi-fi. And a coffeemaker for the morning!

The next day in North Georgia.....just got off Highway 75 heading North on 83 towards Monticello and than to Madison. I saw this family graveyard off the side of the road and couldn't resist stopping for a couple of photos.

The Family Plot Tumbles....smile....

And these two appear to be resting together in eternity.....

Here's Karma Barbie with Miss Betti Page hanging above.... They are both great traveling companions.

On my way to Tallulah Gorge Overlook....a detour, the scenic kind, I found this abandoned roadside Indian souvenir stand. Love the way nature has begun to reclaim all the ticky, tackiness of the place. lol Wish I could have gotten inside the joint with my camera. I bet some amazing tourist knick-knacks still languish within those rotting walls.

It says "no trespassing"....I believe I did just fine.

A broken bird....

A rusting ring...

And here....Danger ~ Caution!

Uniques?

Once I made my way a bit further down the road to Tallulah Point Overlook....a great, old, rusty Royal Crown Cola sign. I just needed Moonpie with me!

Now a string of photos from my folk's beautiful home on the side of a mountain in Franklin, NC. The garden area is simply heaven. Here is the bird steps...this place is bird heaven but you don't want to be a squirrel if my Mom has her BB gun in hand. The bird feeders are for the BIRDS! Although the squirrels I did see feeding at them....well, they were not scrawny.

The way to my Father's garden....

The garden on my way North....ate the first cucumber out of it when Mom & I returned from Ohio some three weeks after this photo was taken. Everything had grown much taller!

I gave this to Dad....I have one somewhere. lol

The peonies in the garden....the photo cannot do them justice!

The peonies in my guest bathroom....the scent was delightful. They don't look real.

And more photos of bird heaven....

The view from the hilltop garden...

And now we are in Granville, the prettiest little town in Ohio....my humble opinion. I have this thing for all the wonderful iron work....fences or what have you. It's just so lovely. Much nicer than white picket fences.

I keep photographing this barber pole. Barber pole twist.....

More amazing iron? work.....the floral entry. Wish I had this doorknob. Boy, I like gorgeous hardware.

This is the entry to what was...when I was a child/teenager....the best bookstore in a basement! I loved to spend hot Summer days in the coolness of all those bookshelves...reading and reading. It's now a cool art gallery. Another place I like to browse.

And my all time favorite neon sign...another one I keep taking shots of each time I come visit Granville. This place has been around since my Mom and her sisters were young. Not that they are all that old now....in their 70's and 80's. Certainly don't seem "old" to me. ~smile~

And finally, the view up the hill to the barn. The old red brick house is just beyond the barn, where my Mother was born. This is where I sit on my Auntie Lulu's back patio. Wish you could smell those lilacs. More to come....lots more!

If you haven't seen it---and you should---"Witness" is a drama set in Amish country, involving corrupt cops, murder, an Amish witness, the struggles of a tough Philadelphia homicide detective to adjust to the slow-paced Amish lifestyle, and the inevitable subplot romance, in this case doomed, between him and a young Amishwoman. (I suppose that, for some viewers, the romance would be the plot and the murder the subplot.) Harrison Ford stars with a superb ensemble cast that features an especially delightful performance by the Russian ballet dancer Alexander Godunov in his first film role.

There are many reasons why we love this film. Being Luddites ourselves, we've been fascinated by the Amish lifestyle since moving to Pennsylvania, home of the world's largest Amish community in Lancaster County, where "Witness" was filmed. Our friend Ben's shelves groan with books on the Amish, and I've read every one. Silence has Amish cookbooks, and we even have a couple of Amish-made quilts. We think that (except for the romance, of course) the film provides a great introduction to Amish life.

But what really sets "Witness" apart for us, and why we can watch it again and again (murder, after all, not being one of our favorite subjects), is the beauty of the film. The camerawork is just gorgeous. There are a lot of scenes simply of the countryside, the wind and light playing over the grain fields, a horse and buggy clopping slowly along, a water wheel turning. For us, it feels like the landscape itself is the plot, and the struggles and travails of the characters are simply textural elements.

Thus it was with amazement that our friend Ben watched the "special feature" included on the DVD, a five-part interview with the cast, director, producer, and director of photography. Our friend Ben regards all those "extras" included on DVDs as cynical marketing tricks that seldom enhance one's appreciation of the film. But in this case, I was pleasantly surprised. The interviews were interesting and articulate, for a start. They also revealed that everyone, from the producer, director, and Harrison Ford on down, had immediately recognized that this was a special film and committed to it on first seeing the screenplay.

But two things in the interviews really struck our friend Ben: First, the director, Peter Weir, said that he and the director of photography had modeled the lighting for the film after Vermeer. Ha! What a brilliant idea. One could not do better than borrow from the greatest master of light the art world has ever known. No wonder the photography was so luminous! Our friend Ben was thrilled and astounded. (Our friend Ben feels that, in art, there is only Leonardo. But after Leonardo, Vermeer.) But the second thing was more astounding still: The producer had initially felt that Weir spent too much time on the landscape and not enough time on the plot. He complained, "You're making a Western!"

Hmmm. A Pennsylvania Amish Western. Our friend Ben was dumbfounded, but also fascinated. The irony is that Lancaster County, Pennsylvania, produced the great Conestoga wagons (named for Lancaster's Conestoga River) that opened the West to settlement. Fortunately, the producer let Weir have his head. The result is a movie about light and space, one of the most beautiful movies ever made.

If you're fortunate enough to visit Lancaster County, as our friend Ben and Silence do several times a year, you too will be struck by the feeling of space expanding, stretching out around you. We love to travel out there via Route 23. To reach 23, we have to take Route 100, a typically noisy, congested, ugly road that's notable only for its ability to get you from here to there. But once we turn right onto 23, the modern world drops away. It's as though, with a turn of the wheel, we've time-traveled back to the 1800s.

Route 23 is an old ridge road that runs between two deep, broad valleys framed at the edge of vision on each side by mountain ranges. Towns, many dating to the 1700s and displaying gorgeous old stone houses, cluster on each side of the road, but the valleys are still agricultural, and the farms there are chiefly Amish. If you travel that road about now, in April, you can look down on either side and see the Amish plowing their fields with their four- or six-horse teams, the great draft horses, Percherons or Belgians, looking like something out of mediaeval chivalry. (Draft horses were originally bred to support a knight wearing full and extremely heavy armor in joust or in battle. The descendants of these fabled destriers have become pullers of Amish plows and Budweiser wagons.) Amish buggies travel the road alongside you, the carriage horses glossy in the harness of the plain grey buggies. Power lines are largely absent. Time drops away, and only space remains. Space, and the play of light and cloud across the valleys and mountains.

Coincidentally, our friend Ben is now reading William Least Heat Moon's Blue Highways, a travelogue chronicling the author's cross-country trip along the backroads in the late Seventies. Least Heat Moon is a compulsive researcher, a finder of facts. He enfolds them into his narrative like those candied red and green cherries people put in fruitcake batter, and the reader bites into them, colorful surprises in the cake-brown sameness of the roads.

Our friend Ben read with interest about how the invention of barbed wire had ended the great traditions of the Old West, the open range that made cowboys essential and their skills driving and tracking cattle legendary. With barbed wire, ranchers could cheaply put up fencing that would keep their herds contained. The open range vanished, replaced by fenced-in ranchland, and the cowboys became fence-menders and rodeo riders. The era of the Western, which began in Lancaster County with the Conestoga wagon, ended in the rangelands of Texas and Nevada with the stringing of barbed wire.

Yet the romance of the Western, of the wide open spaces, endures. It endures in movies like "Witness" that celebrate the beauty of the open fields. It endures in travels like William Least Heat Moon's where you just get in your car or truck or van and go, head out onto the open road, not really caring where it takes you. It is a romance of light and space that has been with humanity since we first emerged onto the sunlit savannahs of Africa, with their tall grasses blowing and bright. We have left our birthplace and travelled far. But in meadow or prairie or the great sunlit spaces of the sea, we have never stopped trying to come home.  

And soft pavement lullabies

Playing through my dreams

Like a thousand endless miles

The Blue Highways of my soul

-02/23/2008  Zero Anon