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Beauty on the Backroads

Stories of grace for life's unexpected turns

family vacation

Vacation round-up, part one: On the way to Illinois

August 12, 2021

For vacation this year, we took a road trip back to Illinois, stopping along the way there and back to see some things. In years past when we’ve driven to Illinois, we tried to knock out the 14 hours as quickly as possible. This time, we took our time to make it feel more like a vacation. We packed a lot in, so I’ve got a vacation round-up in three parts for you. Part One: On the way to Illinois; Part Two: In and Around Illinois; Part Three: On the way back to PA. If you’re on Instagram, I posted a daily photo round–up of our trip. Some of the visuals in these posts will be the same, but some will be different.

Here we go!

I love driving through the western PA mountains at sunset

Because Phil’s vacation time is limited, we try to maximize our time by leaving after he gets off work on Saturdays. By 6 p.m. that night, we had our Sheetz order in hand and were headed to our hotel in western Pennsylvania. As I passed around the order, we discovered two sliders that belonged to someone else’s order. Oops. Nothing we could do. We pulled into the Super 8 in Uniontown, PA around 10 p.m. and the front of the building was lit with colorful lights. Hotels were a point of anxiety for me as I made reservations. Reviews are so mixed online. This one turned out to be just okay. All we really needed was a place to sleep. (The front desk clerk offered me the opportunity to play the video slots in their game room. I declined. 10 o’clock is already past my bedtime, and I’m no gambler.)

We had hotel breakfast the next morning: a smattering of continental choices, then headed out to Friendship Hill National Historic Site.

Friendship Hill National Historic Site

We planned most of our stops around national parks/historic sites because that’s our jam. We had two left to visit in western Pennsylvania after last year’s vacation when we visited the Johnstown Flood Memorial, the Flight 93 Memorial and the Alleghany Portage Railroad National Historic Site. Friendship Hill was the first this year. It’s the home of Albert Gallatin who was Secretary of the Treasury under Thomas Jefferson.

That’s Albert Gallatin above the fireplace

Friendship Hill is the house he built for his retirement. We had arrived earlier than the visitor center was open, so we wandered the grounds for about 30 minutes. There’s a gazebo overlooking the Monongahela River, and we took a short walk to the supposed site of Gallatin’s first wife’s grave.

We’re sort of awake.
Sometimes they love each other

When the visitor center opened, we got a thorough introduction from the park ranger on duty. (Shout out to park rangers! They are knowledgeable and friendly, in our experience, and willing to answer any and all questions.) We did a self-guided tour of the house, which we had to ourselves anyway. Some of what we learned:

– the Marquis de Lafayette (yes, that one!) visited Gallatin’s house in 1825 and it was a big freaking deal. The county where Friendship Hill is located–Fayette County–is named after him.

– Our son was super interested in a display about tongue-and-groove construction.

– Gallatin was involved in the Whiskey Rebellion and had opposing views from Alexander Hamilton; he is also buried at Trinity Church in New York City. (We’ve seen Hamilton’s grave. We probably missed Gallatin’s because we didn’t know!)

– Gallatin founded the town of New Geneva and most of its businesses, including a glass shop (as in, they blew glass there)

I just love old houses and the history they contain. I like to imagine what they were like in their day and sometimes I can almost feel the presence of those who’ve been there before. I get a thrill walking in the footsteps of history. (Lafayette was there and so was I!)

After some obligatory purchases from the shop, we headed to our lunch stop, about an hour away in Washington, Pa., a place called Hog Father’s that I found on the map. An unofficial rule in our family (carried over from my family) is that we try not to eat anywhere that we could eat at home. (So, no fast food or chains that are found everywhere.) As a kid, this made me nervous because I hated the pressure of having to order something from an unknown place. I knew what I liked at the familiar places and didn’t like having to make a decision. Now, I know better what I like in general, although I still don’t like to take a lot of time to read the whole menu. When I find something I like, I order it.

Our son had a southern fried chicken sandwich and fries, and in his words: “This is the best chicken sandwich I’ve ever eaten.” He proceeded to tell two people who worked there that this was the case. Our daughter had the same chicken but in a wrap with cole slaw. Phil had a southern brisket sandwich, green beans and cornbread.

That’s a MEAL!

I had a brisket salad, and I use the word “salad” loosely.

There’s a salad under there, I promise

There was so.much.meat along with fries and crispy onions on the salad. It was topped with their homemade barbecue ranch dressing. We needed more stomachs for all that food. And a nap.

But we got back in the car. We were planning to stop in Youngstown, Ohio, at an attraction I found on Roadside America, but we had an extended bathroom break and gas fill-up just across the Ohio border, so we scrapped that stop and headed for Cuyahoga Valley National Park. We’ve passed signs for this park many times, and our kids made a brief stop there one year with their grandparents. We knew we wouldn’t have a lot of time, so we made a quick stop at the visitor center.

That’s his National Parks passport book on his head

We consulted a map and thought about trying to see one of the sights in the park called The Ledges, but when we got to the trailhead, we realized the hike was going to be longer than we had time for. So, we drove to the Great Heron lookout, which was our planned stop in the park. We saw a bunch of heron nests in the trees but were a little too late in the season to see any birds.

If you look closely, you can see the nests in the treetops.

The drive through the park was beautiful and we’re already talking about taking a long weekend to come back and do a bunch of hiking.

Traveling back to the turnpike, we had a near-miss accident on the road. We were in the blindspot of a car that had just entered the highway. It started to change lanes and was inches away from hitting us. Phil was able to ease us onto the shoulder as the other car swerved back into its lane. We were shaken up but mostly okay. Then came several hours of anxiety-induced travel on the Ohio Turnpike. This is not my favorite road ever. I’m discovering for myself how bodies remember the trauma of place, and mine certainly seemed to remember that day so many years ago when I totaled a car on this very road.

We finally made it to our dinner stop in Toledo, a place we found off the turnpike years ago–Tony Packo’s.

If you’re in Toledo, look them up

The only way to describe it is Hungarian fast casual food. We had never eaten at the original location, only a fast-food style one in another part of town. This building also includes a hot dog bun museum–yes, you heard that right. Famous people (and locally famous people) have signed hot dog buns that are now on display throughout the restaurant.

Artificial hot dog buns signed by a couple people you might have heard of

Also, the food is amazing. Among the four of us we had sausages and hot dogs, mac and cheese, chili mac, chicken paprikas over dumplings, stuffed cabbage, pickles, cole slaw and cucumber salad. Phil and I each had a local beer.

Chicken paprikas

Our hotel in Michigan was only another half an hour away, and we rolled into the Tru by Hilton around 9 p.m. after a small detour through town. I should mention that we let the 13-year-old navigate on this trip. Phil sent her maps and she told him when to turn. Except that in Monroe, Michigan, he hadn’t included the hotel, just the town name so the GPS took us to the center of town instead of out to the hotel.

A note about the hotel: we had never stayed at this brand before and it was pretty great. Certainly the best hotel of our stay. 10/10 would book again. 

There was a beautiful sunset out our window. A great welcome from Michigan, which was a first visit for most of our family.

A Michigan welcome from the sunset

Monday morning, Phil woke up early to run to Lake Erie, which was only a couple miles from our hotel. He got some beautiful sunrise and bird pictures.

The sunrises are also pretty in Michigan

The rest of us took our time and went downstairs for hotel breakfast. The highlight of breakfast was the pancake machine. You waved your hand in front of the machine and it plopped some batter onto a conveyor belt and spit out a cooked pancake at the end. The kids were obsessed and I was fascinated. (I’m not a big pancake eater.) A quality hotel breakfast here, as well.

When we were all fed and ready to leave, we headed to our next park site–River Raisin National Battlefield Park.

A little-known (to us) battle

We were there before the visitor center opened, so we walked around the site and read all the plaques, then took a walk around the meadow.

Knowledge!
Battlefields require imagination, which we have in abundance.

The visitor center opened at 10 and was a short drive from the battlefield, so we we went there and watched a short movie and listened to a park ranger give us an explanation of the map. After the movie, we viewed the large diorama of Frenchtown, which was what the settlement was called at the time of the battle.

River Raisin was the bloodiest battle on Michigan soil and the worst defeat of the War of 1812 for the American military. We heard a connection to our friend, Albert Gallatin, who helped negotiate the surrender at Ghent. Our son enjoyed the 3-pounder cannon mounted on a sled because the battle was fought in winter.

If there’s a cannon, he’s there.

This visit raised lots of questions for us about what the Native American narrative would be about these events. There are some troubling parts to this story, but we didn’t ask our questions.

“Remember the Raisin!” became the battle cry of the western campaign of the War of 1812.

We had originally planned to eat lunch at a unique restaurant in Monroe, but it didn’t open until 11:30 and we were ready to leave town well before that, so we headed to Ann Arbor. We passed the University of Michigan stadium on our way to Washtenaw Dairy.

Legend-dairy!

We picked this place because apparently Superman ice cream is a Midwest treat we’ve never tried and they serve it here. (The side of the building says, “We’re legend-dairy.” I love a good pun!)

Better than I expected

Three of us had Superman ice cream, a blend of blue moon, lemon and red soda/pop. Our daughter had lemon custard. I would not have ordered Superman ice cream if we were on one of our normal ice cream visits, but I was glad I did. It was unique and oddly delicious. Since we skipped our lunch plans, we also ordered donuts at the dairy and had a nutritious lunch of donuts and ice cream. Donut flavors we tried: maple glazed with peanuts, vanilla with sprinkles, coconut flakes, cinnamon sugar and chocolate glazed.

Not long after we got back on the highway, we were diverted by Google to some backroads due to accident traffic. Our next stop was Battle Creek, Michigan, home of the Kellogg Company. We passed the headquarters, but that’s not why we were there.

On the Roadside America site, I found the Fantasy Forest, part of the Leila Arboretum.

The details are astounding

It’s a collection of trees that were killed by the emerald ash borer and instead of pulling out all the stumps, the arboretum asked artists to design and carve them. It is incredible. Our son was excited for the life-size Groot.

“I am Groot.”
Do we look hot? Because it was SO hot.

As we drove through Michigan, we noticed all the roads named “mile,” such as 28-mile road. Can someone from Michigan explain this to me? Also, marijuana is proudly legal in Michigan. How do we know? All the billboards! (We still live in a state where marijuana is only legal for medical use, so we’re not used to seeing this kind of openness.)

Our next goal was the Indiana Dunes Visitor Center, which we thought closed at 4 p.m. central time. So, we were hustling to make it and pulled in to the parking lot before 3:30 p.m., only to find out they’re open till 6. Oh well. The Indiana Dunes is only a couple of hours from our hometown but neither Phil nor I can ever remember going there. This was another park that we couldn’t spend a lot of time at and that is still on our list of parks to visit. We asked a ranger what we should see if we only had an hour. She seemed disappointed. (To be honest, so were we.) We shopped the gift store and then headed to Kemil Beach. Our first glimpse of Lake Michigan from this side was awe-inspiring. We could see the Chicago skyline. (Usually we see Lake Michigan from the Chicago side.)

If you squint, you can see it.

It was hot, though, and everyone but us was dressed for the beach so we didn’t stay long. Phil and our son took a short hike on one of the dunes while our daughter and I refreshed ourselves at the car then joined them for the last little bit. On our way out of the park, we drove through an historic part showcasing houses from the 1933 World’s Fair.

I would live in a pink house.

Our dinner stop was White Castle because we’d had the frozen microwaveable burgers once and Phil wanted to convince the kids that the burgers fresh from the restaurant were better. This particular White Castle was in a gas station, which totally tracks for White Castle’s vibe in my mind. There were double sliders, chicken and waffle sliders, single sliders, fries and onion rings in our order. Why do we do this to ourselves?

Mmmm … greasy gas station food

We rolled in to our hometown–as my son put it, “our last hotel” aka my parents’ house–before 9 p.m. and watched the Olympics before turning in.

Filed Under: 2021 Road Trip, Summer, Travel Tagged With: family vacation, national park sites, pandemic travel, road trip, summer break

What I can keep from vacation (and what I can’t)

June 29, 2018

Our family spent last week in Florida, a throwback to the summer vacations of my youth. My parents bought a timeshare condo sometime in the late ’80s, I think, so week-long trips to Daytona Beach became a regular thing, often in summer, sometimes over spring break.

Until last week, it had been six years since I’d been there. Many more years since I’d been there with my parents and my brother. Reuniting in the place where we made so many family memories (more than a few of which I seem to have forgotten) was a gift and a treat, a memory in itself.

—

I have a complicated relationship with vacation. I love the idea of seeing new places and getting away from the daily duties of life. But I hate packing. And travel causes me some anxiety. (Let me tell you about the congested roads from Virginia Beach to Hilton Head. Relaxing in the car was not an option on our way there.) And as much as I enjoy getting away, I really like coming home. I’m the kind of person who would rather unpack and put everything back where it belongs. Schedules and routine are my friends.

I don’t have a lot of trouble leaving vacation behind. Occasionally I’ll entertain the thought of staying in a new place forever. (This is also known as “searching Zillow for beachfront homes to confirm that I don’t have a million dollars to buy them.”) But vacation isn’t reality. I know myself too well. I would find something to hate about whatever “paradise” I chose as home. I just can’t picture an eternal vacation.

—

As I’ve eased back into our regular life this week, I’ve thought about what I can keep from vacation, and not just the memories and souvenirs and pictures. (And sand. How is there still so much sand?)

Mornings, for example. In Florida, I tried to keep to my usual wake-up time between 6 and 6:30 a.m. I know. I was on vacation. I was supposed to sleep in. Too many days of sleeping in throws my whole day off, though, and it takes me a good hour to adjust after I crawl out of bed. I am not a morning person, but I know what works for my body and mind.

It’s not hard to get out of bed that early when you know the sun is just starting to peek over the horizon and you can watch the show from your balcony (or pull up a front row seat on the beach). I checked on the sunrise every morning as my coffee brewed or as I got ready to go for a run. (I had a mileage goal to complete for a fundraiser.)

I’m not sure this view would ever get old.

On the days I didn’t head to the beach for a tortuous exercise session in 100 percent humidity, I sat on the balcony with a book and my laptop and watched the world wake up. One morning, I witnessed a family preparing to leave for Disney. Most mornings, it was the usual crowd, though: half-clothed (in swimsuits or pajamas) vacationers stumbling out of their rooms toward the beach to watch the sun rise. Occasionally, I’d have to say “good morning” to a neighbor on their balcony. Never did I feel like I had to be fully clothed to start the day. At home, I tend to wait till I’ve had coffee and breakfast and a change of clothes before I wander outside. (I mean, what if the neighbors or a car speeding by saw me in my jammies? Shocking!)

The day after we returned home, though, I took this little piece of vacation with me. I wandered outside in my sleeping clothes to the garden to see how our vegetable babies fared in our absence. And I wondered why I give myself “acceptable hours” to use my front porch, my favorite place in our little rental. Why don’t I ever take my coffee and breakfast outside to greet the day like I did in Florida?

—

And speaking of this little rental …

We stayed in a condo in Florida. It’s a pretty simple setup. A bedroom. A bathroom. A long hallway. A small kitchen with the bare essentials. A small living space. A balcony. I rarely think of condos as spacious, but really, we had all we needed for the week: a place to sleep and a place to keep and prepare food; a shower, a toilet; a couple of options for relaxing at the beginning or the end of a day.

This condo in particular is designed for vacationers, and I often complain about the size of the kitchen. We like to cook a meal or two (or more) when we’re on vacation, but the kitchens aren’t stocked for home chefs. So, we make do with what we have, using our creativity to make up for what we lack in tools or pans.

There are condos in Florida and there are large homes in Florida and homes of in-between sizes. I often dream of having a large home, and I’m not exactly sure why. (I seriously just googled the address of a large home in our area to see if it was still for sale. It is. My dreams aren’t dead yet!) Even when I’m not dreaming of a large home, I’m wishing for more space. When we moved here five years ago, our kids sharing a room didn’t seem like a big deal, but now, their tiny bedroom is just not enough. Or so I believe. They spent all of vacation sharing a room without much complaint.

How much space do I really need? How much stuff do I really need? In Florida, my mindset was that the condo was a home base of sorts. It wasn’t for spending large amounts of time, although one afternoon, our party of seven gathered there for an hour or so after we got caught in the rain. Sure, we were using every available seat in the condo, but it’s one of my favorite memories from this vacation. We were on the go a lot, and honestly, all of Florida is like a communal back yard, so maybe it doesn’t work the same in a place where we actually have winter. But I’m looking at our space and our stuff differently.

What do I really need?

—

I’m not terribly adventurous. You might know this about me or you might not. I have my moments of brave spontaneity but these times are rare and they always cost me something emotionally (and sometimes physically). At home, I tend to stick to what’s safe and predictable and usual. The adventure can wait for another day because it’ll always be here, I think.

On vacation, though, it’s sometimes now or never.

Here is a partial list of what I experienced on vacation that I could have missed if I’d have insisted on sticking to what made me comfortable:

  • I went to two local farmers’ markets with my husband on day 1 because we wanted fresh local vegetables as part of our vacation diet. Yes, we also went to the grocery store, but a farmers’ market as a tourist felt weird to me. But we had a nice conversation with the couple selling vegetables at the first market and found a sweet deal on fresh corn at the other. (Not to mention the pineapple.)

    I snapped this as quickly as possible to prove we’d all been to the top then hightailed it back down with my son who said, “This is creepy.”

  • I climbed 200 steps to the top of a lighthouse, held my breath as I made a quick lap at the top, and went back down. And while waiting for the rest of my family to find us, I found an exhibit of Cuban rafts that had washed up in the area over the years.
  • I took a ferry across the river to a national park site and climbed a narrow ladder to the top of the fort.
  • I walked across a drawbridge in St. Augustine and then waited on the bridge as it raised and lowered to let a boat through.
  • I led my mom and daughter through the streets of St. Augustine to find an ice cream place while we waited for the men in our group to retrieve the car from the other side of the bridge. (It was maybe going to rain again.)
  • I ran on the beach by myself, with my husband, and with our daughter.
  • I tried boogie boarding with my kids. In the ocean. (Let’s talk about this huge achievement. The ocean awes and terrifies me.) I even let the fish nibble my toes a little as we stood watching the waves. (It is the weirdest feeling.)

And then there were the detours and side trips that added time to our vacation but also unforgettable memories.

On the way home, we needed to stop somewhere to eat our packed lunch. My husband suggested we drive into Savannah and eat at the park right in the heart of the city. It was a Saturday and I immediately thought of all the reasons not to: parking and people, chief among them. Staying on the Interstate, stopping at a crowded rest area made more sense to me, but sometimes the call of the natural world is so persistent, I cannot ignore it. We found parking on a side street right next to Forsyth Park (and parking, it turned out, was free).

Not a bad “rest” area

We lugged our picnic lunch into the park, which was full of people but also trees draped with Spanish moss. We met a man who wanted to sing for us, and we saw an owl and two hawks in the trees. We got back in the car refreshed and traveled some back roads to return to the interstate.

Our destination on day one of the return trip was Hillsborough, North Carolina, where some friends of ours live. (This is a longish part of the story. Bear with me.) The first surprise there was the uniqueness of their home. It’s an old historical house that sometimes gets mistaken for being open to the public. This was where we would spend the night. (What was not a surprise was how welcomed we were. Our friends are hospitable hosts. When I’d originally started planning, I figured we’d end up in a hotel. Staying with friends is a thousand times better.)

When the kids started to get rowdy after dinner, our friends took us on a walking tour of their town. At one point, my friend commented on a house we were walking by and said it belonged to Allan Gurganus. “He’s an author,” she said, and I wondered if I should know that name. She mentioned that Hillsborough has a lot of writers living there. I asked what this man had written. She said his most famous book was “Oldest Living Confederate Widow Tells All” and I exclaimed because I’d heard of that but never read it. (Writer and reader friends, this is where you may feel free to disown me, although how can I possibly keep up with all the writers and books everywhere?!)

My spine tingled a little as we passed his house and I kept thinking about what she’d said about all the writers who lived in this beautiful little town. We finished our pleasant walk at the park where the kids chased fireflies and a frisbee (which eventually ended up in a tree), and we took the river path back to their house. Our kids fell asleep in all corners of the house and it was such a restful way to end a day of driving. The next morning, over coffee, the authors of Hillsborough thing was mentioned again, so I searched the Internet to see who else might be living nearby. Only one other name stood out to me, and I nearly dropped my coffee mug.

“Phil!” I exclaimed to my husband. “Annie Dillard lives here!” Granted, I have only read one of Dillard’s books but she is so well-respected among the writers I know that our house contains many of her books that I have every intention of reading. She is a poetic, spiritual, artistic voice, and I WALKED THE SAME STREETS SHE WALKS. (Sorry for the shouting.) This was the second surprise of our side trip, something I wasn’t even aware could possibly happen. Never mind that I wouldn’t know Annie Dillard if I bumped into her on the street, but just the thought of such a talent being nearby sent me into a fangirl frenzy I clearly have not quite recovered from.

We left our friends that morning a little bit unsure of where we would go next. We wanted to visit another national park on our way home, but we had trouble deciding which one. We finally decided to drive toward the Blue Ridge Parkway. It wasn’t exactly “on the way” but it wasn’t necessarily out of the way either. Our route took us on backroads through North Carolina and Virginia. The mountains loomed larger on the horizon. We stopped for lunch and then found our way to the first visitor center. We only planned to drive the Parkway for 20 miles or so, yet it added hours to our return trip.

But it added depth to my soul. (I can’t speak for the others in my family.) At the gift shop where we bought our souvenir puzzle (we have a collection from most of our adventures), my husband handed me a magnet with the well-known words from John Muir: “The mountains are calling and I must go.”

“I saw this and thought of you,” he said with a smile.

It is true. Something happens to me in the mountains. I feel more like me. Those added side minutes on the parkway made the rest of the drive bearable and worth it. The views left us in awe, and my husband got to try out a driving feature on our new-to-us car as we wound our way up and down and around the mountains.

I can’t even with this picture. It’s like a painting.

It was nearly dark by the time we arrived back at our house, and we all pretty much collapsed into bed. We could have arrived hours earlier if we hadn’t gone to the mountains. We could have been home almost a day before if we hadn’t stopped to see our friends.

I regret neither of those decisions and I will continue to remind myself post-vacation that the fastest most direct way is not always the best way. I will try to keep my eyes open for surprises and take a risk now and then on something new and different.

—

Vacation is good but it’s not forever. At least, it’s not for me. Maybe there are some who could turn an endless vacation into their real life, but I can’t do it. I have to get back to the ordinary stuff of life.

Vacation also isn’t perfect. I could write another entire blog post about all the things that didn’t go as planned during the week. There was something every single day that kept my expectations from soaring too high. But this, too, I can keep after vacation is over.

Life is good, but it’s not forever, so seize the now-or-never opportunities. And life isn’t perfect, but that doesn’t stop it from being enjoyable.

We don’t bring home a lot of souvenirs from vacation–pictures, puzzles, postcards, a small gift for each of the kids–but the lessons and the memories will last from now until the next time.

And, I hope, beyond.

Filed Under: Florida, Summer, Travel Tagged With: backroads, daytona beach, detours, family vacation, forsyth park, hillsborough north carolina, road trip, traveling

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