STARTING THE CIRCLE
So far, so good...I'm out of the driveway...a positive sign. Stretching ahead are seven more of our United States to search for scenic gold. In each, a long list of "don't miss this" highlights: covered bridges, famous rivers, religious communities, sumptuous parkland, adorable towns, wild horses and the enchantment of beach sounds. Truman and I are packed light, energized and definitely feeling blessed from the success of our first showing of landscape studies from The Landscape Project. So many dear friends came by or sent their good wishes and affection. Thirty-two paintings found homes, videographer Margaret Buckley filmed a tape for the Maryland Arts Channel and WETA's Bill Dunlap gave the exhibition "Best Bet" status on "Around Town." With old friend David Tannous's advice in mind to document everything and think in variety of expression, Truman and I set off for Blackwater Falls located in the fabled Potomac Highlands of West Virginia.

 

THE MOUNTAIN STATE
The vast Monongahela National Forest lies in a remote area behind rugged terrain of over one hundred 4,000 foot peaks forming the Allegheny Front of the Appalachian Mountain chain and spreads over nearly a million acres. Loving our rivers, I was eager to see the five major systems originating within the forest: Potomac and James on the east and the giant Ohio and its tributaries on the western side of the divide.One of those tributaries is the Blackwater River that glows amber from tannic acid absorbed from red spruce and hemlock needles lending the river its name. Roaring down a six-story plunge with all the pomp and splash a painter could wish for, the cascade provided inspiration for a half-dozen visits, watercolor, photography and tape. On the way there, the barren beauty of Dolly Sods, a hawk-watchers dream, and an overnight stay at the National Recreation Area's terrific campsite at Seneca Rocks made a great start. Made of tough Tuscarora Sandstone, the toothy Rocks stand 900 feet over the valley and lay claim to be one of the best climbing spots on the East Coast. The men of the 10th Mountain Division trained here during WWII and an ancient Indian legend proclaims the rivalry between Algonquin, Tuscarora and Seneca warriors for the hand of the Seneca chief's beautiful daughter, Snow Bird, with a subsequent strenuous rock climb determining the bravest and best. If only the choice were that simple...

This region was European-settled in the mid 1700s, the Indians bullied out by mountain men, settlers and escaped indentured servants running from plantations in the east. Once the single state of Virginia, sharply divided loyalties during the Civil War caused some of the most vicious crimes ever committed against brothers, friends and neighbors. After the war, the state of West Virginia was carved out for an independent existence and the residents returned to their settled rural ways. Later on, I dipped back into West Virginia's tippy-top panhandle for a night's rest at Tomlinson State Park.The West Virginia parks are terrific and fun without the many restrictions I found in Pennsylvania and New Jersey--namely, NO DOGS ALLOWED! A fact that shortened my tour considerably and put Truman and me in a very bad mood. At down-to-earth Tomlinson we took a walk to the other side of the campground that seemed to be packed with everyone under forty. This was so unusual...most campers I've seen so far in that age group have all the kiddies along and go solo. These seemed to be singles camping in groups, and the weedy odoure of cannabis floated along the lanes, giving Truman a contact high which caused him to embarrass himself with several innocent dogs minding their own business.

 

FALLINGWATER
Frank Lloyd Wright's most celebrated private home design is located on the Youghiogheny River in the Laurel Highlands region of southwestern Pennsylvania. The house, a masterpiece built directly on and over the leaping water is to die for. So neat, compact, made for persons petite and thin like himself, and gorgeously terraced into its woodland setting. The integration of colloid and crystal and man and nature is remarkable and repeated in the horizontal spaces of Kentuck Knob, a private Usonian residence surrounded by modern sculpture later designed by Wright just a few miles away. When Wright's mother, Anna, attended the Philadelphia Centennial Exhibition in 1876, she was impressed with the building blocks and other toys she saw in a demonstration kindergarten that permitted children to learn as they played and ordered a set for home. Frank said it was those blocks that started it all. Later, in 1917, his own architect son, John Lloyd Wright, invented Lincoln Logs.

 

SIGHTS ALONG THE BYWAYS
We crossed over a high, keening silver bridge at Wheeling in the late afternoon, the sinuous movement of the river snaking under bridge after colorful bridge all shaped the same, shoelacing in huge arcs from Ohio to West Virginia's clustered industrial centers and back again. A low sun set fire to the spans and sought out whitecaps and shadows in the lovely river. Seeking Rt. 26 with its precious covered bridges from Woodsfield to Marietta, I took note of these things seen along the way so far:

 

SMALL TOWNS TODAY
A big leap through Ohio countryside passing through the many, many lovely small towns that make up the majority of American life. Big Victorians, historic public squares, scenic railways, old Opera Houses still form the heart of these American gathering places once wealthy with oil, lumber and shipping profits evident in the luxe homes they built for themselves. Set-back courthouses of gingerbread match the three-story mansions with wide lawns and the tall, graceful trees that flank them. You can still be a Moose, a Lion or an Elk within your lodge or grange in complete peace, in fact, it's probably expected. In one town I counted 6 (six!) churches in a row (couldn't they trim that down to, say, 3 (three)? Their centers frozen in the 1880s, Main Street's solid shop fronts, wide streets and sensible plans, so purposeful and understandable, are now surrounded by a contrasting fringe of confused "modernity" if that's what you can call the hideous, sprawling and utterly independent spread of dingy strip malls and their meaningless franchised clutter. I know, I know, people have to live and shop somewhere, and discount is king, but why so ugly?

 

AN INCREDIBLE PARK AND A MYSTERIOUS MOUND
In the middle of Ohio is the most amazing state park called Hocking Hills. Please go see it, even out of your way. Full of secrets, its 9,000 acres devote 2,000 of them to unique caves and wilderness walks along bubbling creeks leading to lovely waterfalls. Surrounded by tulip poplars, hemlocks, white and red oaks, birches, beeches and yews, Truman and I hiked seven fern-lined miles and were paralyzed with fatigue but have never enjoyed a walk through the woods so much. We took shelter from the rain three times and felt just like Chingachgook and companion. Imaginative sandstone constructions built in the 30s by the CCC drift throughout the park along the tough trails, but just enough to help you out of a tight spot, not to coddle. Far beyond the park lies Chillicothe where a large prison ironically festooned with Greek porticos nestles smack up against a National Monument featuring 24 historic burial mounds of the Hopewell Culture (200BC-500AD). The latter's function was to cremate and bury highly placed people whose bodies were brought from far away for the ceremonial function. Scattered throughout a peaceful area both mowed and unmowed, the mounds had slightly different shapes. I nearly had a heart attack when Truman started digging in one with his great big feet going like mad after a gopher. I could envision ancient bones and artifacts flying out any moment and urged him to cease and desist. While he pouted in the RV, I watched a film and learned the Hopewell Mounds were named for the farmer whose land it once was and that no one really knows much about who the natives were or why they left, just those few facts and educated guesses gleaned from the excavated mounds and their artifacts.

 

AMISH LIFE IN CHARM, OHIO
Like Italian rural life, the Amish live closely with their animals. It lends an earthy look to the farmyard, the houses and buildings...authentic, you might say. Marriage at 20 tends to produce about 6.5 children in each family so among the enormous barns that loom like cathedrals on every farm, there are often many large homes built closely together to accommodate three and four generations who live and work there.Their simple black buggies are now slowly being renovated with fiberglass wheels replacing hickory, fiberglass wagon boxes instead of poplar, autosteer mechanisms and urethane finishes instead of enamel. A tug-of-war between tradition and economy and guess who's winning? The lovely and lively standardbred horses the Amish raise or buy from Kentucky horse farms pull the buggies. Charm seemed to be almost completely Amish, its narrow roads perfect for buggy travel. For Amish, the horse and buggy represent a separation from the alienating potential of the automobile. It is family-orientation, not glamour or style that motivates a culture valuing modesty and humility.

It was washday and the clotheslines were filled with blue denim and gem-colored cottons, undergarments and sheets all flapping away in the stiff breeze. I saw many women working...laundry, mowing, gardening, driving buggies, walking with packages; and I'm sure the inside of the house was undergoing cleaning, cooking and baking as well. They were beautiful in their plainness: long dresses, white pleated caps and sturdy shoes. It was Friday so the children were in their one-room schoolhouses. Education generally ends for them in the eighth grade so as to avoid the corruption of earthly knowledge (something I would like as well; do they take converts?) The fields abounded with Guernseys and the picturesque Belgian or Percheron horses that are essential to field work. I photographed a man driving horses who were pulling something like a plow or rake over acreage. He kept his face averted from my intrusion. They hate cameras in the hands of tourists and I don't blame them but, therein lies a rub...More than four million people visit Amish country each year, all demanding accomodations and unlimited viewing. At the same time, they buy millions of dollars of Amish-made goods (the word Amish being synomymous with quality at a fair market price). The 45,000 Amish who live in North Central Ohio are the largest group in the country. Others have settled in Eastern Pennsylvania and Northern Indiana, immigrating to the United States around 1720 to avoid persecution from Protestants and Catholics hot on their trail. They were Anabaptists who emerged from the Swiss Reformation, ca:1525, a religious group who rejected infant baptism, preferring a voluntary submission at adulthood (15-18 yrs). The members known as Mennonite were the original group, with more conservative Amish breaking off over the issue of shunning back in the 19th century. Here are some things I learned:

Of course, having your roads choked with gawking tourists like Truman can't be pleasant and you must feel zooish when it happens. But...their kind of lives are lived by choice and so they will continue their scenic style and culture. Believe me, if I ever had a choice of ten places to live in this lovely land, Charm, Ohio, where I found the fascinating center of this Spring trip would be high on the list.

 

THE CAMPING RESORT
Truman and I spent several dear hours bounding through Pennsylvania's Cook Forest on the Longfellow and Woodland Trails, or rather, Truman bounding with his little bouncy trot, me...mincing over roots and sloshing through mud sloughs. It was here in this park that I first saw a phenomena later repeated many times: the camping resort. Anywhere from 75 to 100 trailers sit up on blocks, surrounded by decks and decorated with windmills, gnomes and flags, all placed close together on named streets.Carved brown signs tell us that Bert and Janie live there and that their other home is in Altoona or Lewistown. It's an apartment house on the horizontal line with golf carts alongside.. Long-timer old-timers with year-around ties to this area living in "Dreamaway Cottage," or "Kountry Komforts." Vacation homes on wheels, affordable seasonal rates, in the right neighborhood, and best of all, near people who speak the same language...people who speak at all. But no one was there yet, too early. There is definitely a camping etiquette that includes absolutely no eye contact unless you have a dog that is cute or you are energetically on your way somewhere and need directions. It is something like the oriental idea of privacy in a crowd. People tend to be very respectful but in conversation keep looking for the man behind my wheel or checking the oil, etc. and are somewhat nonplussed not to find one there.

 

PENNSYLVANIA ROUTE 6
Moving north and east we found famous Rt. 6, a road that stretches from California to Cape Cod and is known in the east as the Grand Army of the Republic Highway. Pennsylvanians are proud to name dozens of sites along its route through the Alleghenies and Poconos and Truman and I wanted to see them all: Wealthy Warren, heroic Kane (where Ulysses S. Grant was once arrested for fishing without a license); lovely Coudersport and unbelievable Wellsboro; the graceful Grand Canyon of Pennsylvania, a 50-mile-long cataract 1,500 feet deep; French Azilum (asylum), the ruin of a desperately built village where Marie Antoinette was to be smuggled to safety; the mystic and soaring Kinzua Bridge, once considered one of the eight man-made wonders of the world and which has a rumored $40,000 fortune buried somewhere at its foot; the Pennsylvania Lumber Museum with its fine CCC historical exhibition and19th century reconstruction of a lumber camp. All these wonders were eventually seen and enjoyed to the max.

 

THE WONDERS OF NEW JERSEY
We were on the home track bopping down the road belting out oldies though there was New Jersey and the DelMarVa penninsula yet to go. Rain plagued us so there was no lingering. We traipised the Appalachian Trail for a mile or two at the Delaware Water Gap and tried to throw a dollar over the Delaware River at Washington's Crossing while pondering the freezing night that our sad sack troups braved the narrow river (much thinner there than the paintings would hint), and achieved the biggest coup of the Revolutionary War so far, marching toTrenton and Princeton with elan. We tried hard to see the actual town of Princeton, having heard how charming it is, but only got close enough to view a few spires and tree-lined streets...it was like trying to push a tumor through a capillary to move that RV down those quaint lanes. But I could tell...there was a definite throb of IQ in the air from all those beautiful minds.

People find a strange beauty in the Wharton State Forest down in the Pine Barrens of New Jersey where miles of blueberry bushes surround sandy wastelands. Now, I have to say, the camping experience in this state was more than one might expect...much like finding yourself inside an episode of the Sopranos...late nights and loudness in everything being the byword, but on reflection and with some distance, it also meant energetic and enthusiastic participation in family life, so to speak.

 

OCEAN-BRED PONIES
At last, the ferry to the seashore! T and I made the most of the sights, sounds and scents of our beautiful Atlantic beaches. We made art all the way from Cape May to the Chesapeake Bay Bridge Tunnel, having a thrilling time romping with dozens of wild horses playing on the beach at Assateague, and were rewarded with a memorably scenic campsite at beloved Chincoteague along with remarkable sights in the marshes there. The protected horses, stunted from a marsh grass diet and all an identical rusty brown from eons of inbreeding, stand in small groups with their backs to the ocean, heads hanging down. Unlike the Kentucky Thoroughbreds they had little animation the day we were there and very little curiosity, even for Truman. T didn't know what to do about these largish beasts...whether to warn, defend, or play with them. He ended up dancing with a few in a playful way which then included me and the video camera. At the wildlife refuge of Chincoteague, the ponies are marked differently--more pintos-- and are much more diffident in manner. There, they share the spotlight with migrating flocks of large birds...Trumpeter Swans, Snow Geese, Black Duck, Glossy Ibis and many more. The same Blue Heron I remember from the 70s was still there, or at least a descendent of his who has inherited the same filmy Dior-designed blue-gray feathery gown. And there was the shy Virginia Rail my mother had coaxed from hiding twenty years ago with recorded mating calls.

 

HOME AGAIN
We arrived home just in time to unload and clean up somewhat for the Corcoran Sketch Club visit when all seventeen of us sketched, sweltered and spa-dangled, enjoying curry and wine and each other for a lovely country afternoon. Until next time, when autumn leaves turn vivid up in the seven pretty states of New England and environs, we are as always,