A PICTORIAL NARRATIVE OF A TRIP TO SEVERAL STATES IN THE MIDDLE WEST OF THE UNITED STATES

PART IV

James Barney Marsh

 

We come now to the third travel day, 23 May, driving northeast in Kansas from Wichita to Osawatomie. Osawatomie is in Miami County, between the Osage & Pottawatomie Rivers, hence its name. A more important river through the town is the Marais des Cygnes, locally known as, and often spelled as, the Meridezenes. Wild swans were reported here as late as the 19^th Century, hence its name. Our dwelling place was the Enchanted Realm B & B, run by Tami & Sue, a mother/daughter team. It is in a 100 year old house with modernized but still traditional suites, each with its own mythical theme. Ours was the Twilight Room, not the Twilight Zone, equipped with a large whirlpool bathtub and king sized bed. Tami is a youthful great grandmother, half Native American and half Polish, a former military wife, worked several years as a trucker teamed up with another ex-husband, and, for a decade, ran a restaurant in Oregon catering mainly to loggers. Nobody but a logger stirs his coffee with his thumb. Maybe so, but breakfasts at the Enchanted Realm were the best ever in a B & B. Not to mention the conversations.

Betsy Patrick, our guide, is a local enthusiast, retired lawyer, chamber of commerce member, Marsh Arch buff, and the email correspondent who alerted me to Osawatomie. The town contains, among much other history, four bridges on the National Registry, two Marsh Arches and two older steel structures. The town is also the site of the Kansas mental health care industry including the Kansas State Hospital. One of the steel bridges, now deemed too dangerous to cross, but too historic to demolish, is known as the Asylum Bridge (L) because it crosses the Marais des Cygnes going to the State Hospital. It was also, famously, the route preferred by escaping inmates: unhinged nuts, with as many loose screws as the bridge across which they bolted. A retired Baptist pastor I know once was scheduled to preach in Osawatomie. With no hotel rooms, they put him up at the asylum. He said the congregation was so spooked by his “sleeping with nuts” that half of them left before he could start preaching.

The other steel bridge, Carey’s Ford (R), which is still in use, felt rather like one of those Indiana Jones bridges with loose or missing floor boards, though I didn’t spot any crocodiles in the river below. Betsy drove us to the two Marsh Arch bridges which were similar in shape and size. Each had a large span or arch in the middle and smaller spans at each end. Of the two, only the 8^th Street or Creamery Bridge was accessible for sketches or photographs. The road once led to a creamery.

The 6^th Street Bridge (below) was submerged in dense underbrush and foliage growing in swampy soil that is hospitable to water moccasins. We discussed the options, but decided water moccasins make lousy art critics.

So, the next day, we concentrated on the Creamery Bridge. It too crossed the Marais des Cygnes, but at a dam with rapidly rushing water. I walked out on the dam to about mid-stream and set up to sketch & photograph from an excellent angle. Water was rushing over the dam and falling about 10 feet into a depression in the river bed, causing a collection of debris from upstream. Most prominent was a large 20 foot log that kept crashing around, unable to escape in either direction. Once again, I did pencil sketches and took many photographs.

            Miami County was the scene of violence and bloodshed in the half decade prior to the Civil War. In various compromises, Missouri, a few miles to the east, had been designated a slave state, while Kansans were to decide by plebiscite which side they were on. This led to intense migration from both sides attempting to swell their ranks, and to bloody battles attempting to reduce the ranks of the opposition. Osawatomie was strongly abolitionist and the site of Underground Railroad safe houses. Nearby Paola was inhabited by pro-slavery advocates. The first battles of the Civil War, according to John Brown, took place in Osawatomie. Osawatomie was, in fact, where Brown began his fateful career, became a hunted man, and set out across the country to Harper’s Ferry.

 

The remnants of John Brown’s cabin are well preserved in Osawatomie.

The cabin is housed inside a larger building to protect it from the weather and vandalism.

Kansas was a Union State during the War; Missouri did not join the Confederacy, but was bitterly divided and furnished soldiers to both sides. Paola has recovered and has become very much a part of the modern world. The town is attractive with an imposing court house.  Betsy took us to a museum heavily endowed with artifacts from early arrowheads to 18^th Century quilts, to 19^th Century cooking tools, to art & much else. After three hours of intense information absorption, and afflicted with culture overload, we repaired to a local restaurant called Beethoven, run by a grumpy German. No Hymn to Joy; just the second bad meal of the trip. I ordered German and found their curry worst was the wurst ever. Selena claims hers was even more awful.

On the final day in Osawatomie, Tami delivered up another fantastic breakfast, followed by some excellent (pricey) cider in nearby Louisburg. We got lost several times in myriad very dirty back dirt roads with washed out bridges, which must have been near the center of that Heart of Real America one hears so much about. Finally, we pigged out at “We B Smokin,’” a famous and prize winning BBQ that features prominently in the competitions and is championed by Bobby Flay on the Food Channel.

Our fourth travel day was 26 May, a trip across Missouri to St. Charles, near St. Louis. An Internet surfing accident alerted me to “Historic St. Charles,” of which I was ignorant, but a willing learner. St. Charles was Missouri’s first capitol. Missouri was within Thomas Jefferson’s Louisiana Purchase and was a staging area at the beginning of Lewis & Clark’s Expedition. St. Charles lies on the Missouri River, not far from its confluence with the Mississippi. The French influence is palpable although much of the subsequent development was due to German immigrants. I have no records of Barney’s bridges in this area, so our visit was merely to wind down before flying home.

St. Charles’ riverfront and Main Street are highly recommended. The architecture is extremely beautiful, much being closer to 150 years old than to 100. It rained a bit, so we hid out briefly in a local café sipping tasty cappuccinos. But of greater interest was a tour of the Haviland Museum, a private collection, run by Mrs. Donna Hafer who also runs the Mother-in-Law House, a restaurant. This was the first time since our visit to the Haviland factory in Limoge, France a decade ago that we have had the opportunity to talk with someone with expertise. The story goes that David Haviland the founding member of the family firm, ran a china shop in New York for which he imported mainly German china. A lady came to him to repair a broken tea cup which so impressed him that he traveled to its source in Limoge. Once he started importing from Limoge, he faced the demanding American market up with which the French company couldn’t keep. So he set up his own factory, in France, to supply this American demand; he outsourced. Many Haviland sets penetrated into the Midwest market into homes that were becoming increasingly sophisticated in their tastes and sufficiently opulent to afford them. A set of Haviland, made in Limoge, ended up in Grandma Farquhar’s curved glass hutch (in the Villisca library) and presumably often on her dinner table. It was passed on to the Jones household, then to the Marshes, and through Mother to me. When we visited the factory in Limoge I had a small plate from the collection to show them. They were quite impressed and spoke of using one of my larger plates to try to recreate the long lost molds. I have not followed up on this proposition. We visited Limoge on the return trip from our two-year stay in Japan; I had carried the small plate with me to Japan in 1994 anticipating needing it in France in 1996. I did not have that small plate on this trip, however, not having anticipated a Haviland Museum. Pity. Mrs. Hafer was also very impressed with our described set; she has nothing of the kind. Apparently the not-for-sale Marsh china is something of a rarity. Mrs. Hafer was able to confirm a remark I once heard & half understood about the 19^th Century distributors, a Missouri family named James, who got this china to the Farquhars. It was, if my rumor or urban legend really is correct, the same James family that gave us Jesse and Frank.

 

 

Various shots of St. Charles

After lunch at the Mother-in-Law House we moseyed into the Thistle & Clover (lower right behind car), one of those Celtic shops I have so much difficulty resisting. They succeeded in selling me a new (badly needed) Prince Charles jacket as well as a new (unneeded) Saltier St. Andrews kilt. It’s not a Farquhar tartan, but it will dazzle the St. Andrews Society here & abroad. The people in the shop also directed us to the KC Masterpiece BBQ restaurant, another prize winner, which rapidly moved ahead, even of the We B Smokin’ meal, as truly outstanding. We shared a rack of ribs plus a half chicken that was so large we couldn’t finish it. The proprietor, if I read their blurbs intelligently, was a child psychiatrist who had listened to so many unhappy stories that he burned out. At this point he decided he would use this newly acquired burning attribute to burn or BBQ chicken & ribs. I don’t know what kind of a shrink he was, but he certainly didn’t shirk from offering expansive plates of chicken & ribs at non-inflated prices.

The next day we decided to check out St. Louis, with its enormous arch and many historic neighborhoods. We did pretty well in that regard, finding a part of the riverfront Gas Light District, the Roman arch Eads Bridge, the French style City Hall, and a red building by Louis Sullivan.

            The Cardinals were out in force, baseball fans in red, as was the ubiquitous rib festival; it is, after all, the season, and this is the optimal territory. By this time our expertise had become so sophisticated that we were able to determine which of the many pros was making the best ribs. They all were good, some better.

            So now it was time for our final travel day (29 May) and our drive from St. Charles back to the StayBridge Inn in Glenview. A final anecdote: the Springfield and Illinois Rivers are navigable to Springfield if there is enough rain. In the1840s, a Springfield entrepreneur purchased a riverboat in Ohio, filled it with cargo and headed down the Ohio to the Mississippi at Cairo, upriver to the Illinois and on to the Springfield. A work force, including Abe Lincoln, was hired to build the infrastructure to enable the ship to land and unload. On the return trip back to Ohio, the entrepreneur hired Lincoln as second officer. The voyage was difficult due to low water levels, making it necessary for the ship to back down the river in places, obviously at high cost; the project ultimately failed. Nevertheless, Lincoln was paid $40 for his contributions and, according to the Illinois blurb, walked back to Springfield.

To help us recover from the long drive, we dined at the Fish Mart, a restaurant in the complex, which served excellent lobster. Believe it or not, I lost weight on this trip.