My 50s childhood includes many backroad memories. Travel to visit relatives, recreation, and the agriculture extended family life of my home state of Illinois and neighboring states influenced the experience. Grandparents, aunts, uncles, and cousins lived on dairy farms in Illinois and Missouri. Although Urban sprawl was well underway, the highway system to connect the rapidly growing cities and towns was decades in the future. In 1950 there were 200 thousand family farms in the state of Illinois. My extended family’s dairy farms on dusty dirt roads, or sometimes graded gravel roads, created childhood backroad memories. An Uncles’s Illinois River fishing cabin was located on a network of sometimes paved and often unsigned county roads with the final destination on a dusty dirt road. Backroad travel included up-close views of hardwood forest colors, picturesque creeks, caves, and fireflies. Finding solitude and a unique sense of place were around the next turn on a dusty dirt road.

My first camping trip created forever 50s childhood backroad memories

My 50s childhood backroad memories begin with a Missouri Ozark rivers camping trip. The experience previewed my parents’ traditions for recreation and extended family relationships. My 4-year-old senses were focused on people tubing on the river, our campsite on the beach, and the crayfish in pools on the edge of the river. The trip was multipurpose, recreation and a mini family reunion with my uncle’s family. My father and his brother had returned from WWII service less than 2 years earlier and were adapting to civilian life. Before the war their interests had been fishing, swimming, baseball, and work. Vivid memories of Ozark rivers and a sense of place never faded during subsequent decades.

 

 

I had unsuccessfully searched for that campsite on a trip to Missouri in 1970, 23 years earlier. When I travelled to Missouri and Illinois to introduce relatives to my wife, I could not find the river. Thirty-seven years later in 2007 I asked my aunt who had been on that trip if she could remember which river, it was. I reviewed the photos I had taken a few days earlier in the Ozarks. There it was the beach on the North Fork of the White River where I had camped 60 years earlier. My adult knowledge of family history strengthened my emotional connection to the beach location where I had experienced the unknown river.

The family culture for backroad adventures became the context for my childhood in Illinois and Washington and then my adult life exploring more than 100 national and state parks with my park ranger wife.

The streets in my newly created Washington State neighborhood, the tract where we had purchased a house, was still under construction when we arrived for my father to begin work in 1955. The streets in the tract, about 50 houses on 4 short streets were paved. The streets leading out of the tract to the commercial district and to other parts of the Island were not paved. As a result, daily routines to work, shop, and school travelled dusty dirt roads. Forty first street, the first street south of the neighborhood where I lived, the way to the playgrounds of neighborhood children on trails and hills in a nearby forest, was a dusty dirt road.

Thousands of dusty dirt roads lead to a unique sense of place

I was born in Alton, Illinois and lived part of my early life on a dairy farm near Highland, Illinois. The Alton location was a crossroads for millennia of civilizations and United States development. French explorers Jaquet and Lafayette, Lewis and Clark, and Mark Twain sailed the Mississippi there. The Piasa Bird drawing was observed by the French explorers in 1673 during their exploration. The original drawing, created centuries earlier by native Americans, was destroyed during the 19th century by quarrying rock from the bluffs. The picture above was recreated to preserve the history. I lived in a log house during WWII was built in 1885 by my great grandfather. The farmhouse was at the end of a dusty dirt road. The road was level and only about one eighth of a mile in length, however it could become impassable by car during heavy rain or sometimes a combination of freezing rain and snow. Road maintenance was readily accomplished by hitching a rake to the tractor.

Illinois dairy farms were laid out in sections, with a common plot size of 100 to 160 acres. From a wide view driving on sections of Route 66 and Illinois HWY 143, the route from my industrial town of Roxana to my grandmother’s house, there was a degree of symmetry created by the size of the fields and the color scheme from the crops. Fields were either light brown for wheat or barley to dark green for corn. The farms of the 50s were similar to previous generations of farms. The beginning stages of agriculture in the early 19th century dictated the scheme. A man with a horse could cultivate no more than 100 acres, the scheme was preserved for generations due to the continuity of the family farm profession.

My extended family of the 1950s had been farmers in the 1920s when horse drawn plows were still common and trips to town were in horse drawn buggies. The maintenance of country roads in the 50s was often done by a tractor hitched to a rake that was used to prepare fields for planting. Roads were maintained on an ad hoc basis after rain had eroded them.

My research of Illinois State history disclosed that there were approximately 200,000 dairy farms, the vast majority on dusty dirt roads, in 1950. Although Illinois is the flattest state, variations in topography involving creeks, lakes and hardwood forests resulted in many locations with a unique sense of place.  My grandparent’s farm was distinguished by a hardwood forest and Silver Creek that in combination covered more than half of the property. From my childhood perspective it served as a playground and an adventure domain. From my 8-year-old perspective, having travelled 100s of miles of backroads in Illinois and Missouri, there was no other place like it. The farm is always in view of my 50s childhood backroad memories.

A location on a forest road on the northern edge of the farm, called the ford, where it crossed Silver Creek was in dreams for decades. The sensation of solitude and sense of place had not faded 40 years later. This spot was shaded, below the level of the fields surrounding it, canopied by the hardwood forest, and cooled by a breeze coming off of the creek which was near the temperature of the water table. The vision of this place affected my adult personality, my attitudes, my mind meld with my wife for backroads beauty of geology, hiking the San Gabriel and San Bernadino mts, and my definition of a vacation being a geology and biology field trip.

Dusty dirt road 50s childhood backroad memories

Family traditions and history, the climate of my Illinois home location, the 50s recreation culture, and the rapid evolution of technology and media after all WWII transformed my 50s childhood life. The family move to Washington State in 1955 changed the scene. The fishing experience changed from rivers and creeks in Illinois to the Pacific Ocean in Washington State.  The San Juan Islands and Cascade Mountain wilderness in Washington State provided vast and diverse hunting possibilities. Hunting for bear in the Mt Baker wilderness and fishing for salmon in the Skagit River in Washington were a new dimension compared to Bluegill at the confluence of the Illinois River and Macoupin Creek in Illinois. The dusty dirt roads in Illinois morphed into the passes between Islands in a small boat.

My 50s childhood memories of the dusty dirt road at the family farm near Highland, Illinois connects many generations of my family with agriculture, family reunions, recreation, world history, and service to the country. Beginning in the 1880s, my great grandfather used horses for work, they were not pets or recreation. He hitched horses to tree stumps during rainstorms to clear land for crops. His grandchildren and great grandchildren were avid horseman and rode horses stabled at the farm daily 100 years later.

My great grandfather fished in Silver Creek on the edge of his farm, beginning in 1885 when he completed his house. He hunted quail and rabbits from his front porch with a 20-gauge shot gun that I have in my closet 140 years later. For my family coal miners and dairy farmers, fishing and hunting were an enduring element of the recreation culture. For dairy farmers the recreation was often in the front yard adjacent to a hardwood forest or creek. The recreation element of the agricultural life could be integrated with the daily routines, in between morning and afternoon sessions of milking and animal care. The traditions were passed on from ancestors. I was not the dedicated full-time fisherman that my father and great great grandfather were. My son learned to fish in the Ocean at Seal Beach, California. He fished with my father in local lakes in Long Beach, California. In hunting trips in Washington State in the Cascade Mountains foothills I trekked awesome geology and salmon choked rivers, finding solitude and a sense of place forever memory.

Mobility and leisure time in the automobile generations added swimming to the recreation menu. There was a swimming pool in the neighboring town of Wood River, the largest swimming pool in the world at the time. I rode my bicycle there 3 or 4 times per week from age 7. I usually swam at the pool alone. My parents preferred lakes and rivers for family outings. These locations were a few miles from home or sometimes 20 to 30 miles. My earliest memories in the 50s are concentrated with trips on dusty dirt roads to lakes, rivers, and muddy swimming holes. We swam at nearby locations, Greenville Lake and canals that were part of the Mississippi River system, in the evenings after my father’s workday for recreation and picnic diners. On weekend and vacation trips we travelled to Macoupin Creek, a fishing destination, and Lake of the Ozarks. My father’s cousins farm, on Bryant Creek near Ava Missouri, had several spring fed lakes and rivers near their farm.

Dairy farmers and coal miner’s ancestor backroad memories

When the location of my ancestor’s dairy farm was settled in 1828 by Michael Deck, one of George Washington’s bodyguards, there were no villages and no roads, not even dusty dirt roads. Illinois achieved statehood ten years earlier in 1818. By 1885, when my great grandfather constructed his first house on this property, dusty dirt roads had become the standard for transportation. The road system, as it was in 1885, enabled economic development, travel to other villages and access to the booming economy of Saint Louis Missouri. The train stop at Highland, Illinois 2 miles from the farm, took passengers and farm produce 25 miles by train to rapidly growing markets in Missouri. Illinois was connected to Saint Louis, Missouri by the Eads Bridge, an engineering marvel that drew a 14-mile parade to celebrate opening day in 1873.

I am the son, grandson, and great grandson of Smith family coal miners’ daughters. My childhood was characterized by frequent interaction with extended family. When my grandparents were married in 1890 the population of Higbee Missouri was one thousand. The area of the town was less than one-half mile. Main street and roads connecting other towns were dusty dirt roads. The workplace was a coal mine a short walk from the house. Limited shopping for household supplies was a short walk on main street. Smith family childhood backroad memories reflected the strength of family ties that defined a coal miners’ life.  My aunt’s house, Myrtle Smith Warford, during the next generation in Wood River, Illinois, was a short walk from my house in Roxana, Illinois. Popcorn for snacks and fried chicken with cream peas for dinner were the scene for 50s childhood memories and relationship glue that endures for a lifetime.

 

Macoupin Creek at Hardin, Illinois, Bryant Creek at Ava, Missouri, and Duckhead Cove on Lake of the Ozarks are locations combining extended family relationships, fishing, swimming, and finding solitude travelling dusty dirt roads. Spring fed lakes, caves, fireflies, fall colors, and Mayfly blooms were on the itinerary or became ad hoc adventures. Ozark springs and watermills are down the road. My great uncle Harry’s farm at Ava combined many of the ad hoc adventures in one location. I had seen fireflies prior to my trip to Harry’s farm in 1949. The habitat in the fields next to his house created the best display of fireflies I have ever seen. I was in the right place at the right time with the dark background of the forest for contrast. Esther Dye, Harrys youngest daughter sitting next to him, hosted our family on weekends at her farm on Bryant Creek. Bryant Creek, now a state park, has trails, fall colors, a cave, fishing, firefly nights and kayaking. Ozark mills tell the stories of 19th century ancestors. The 50s childhood memories of extended family are forever nostalgia. 50s ch

My favorite cousin, an orphan taken in by my aunt was a coal miners’ granddaughter. She lived in a nearby neighborhood within walking distance of my house in Roxana.  She fished at my uncles rented cabin on the Illinois River. My uncle took me to fish at this location during WWII while my father was in the South Pacific on the Saratoga aircraft carrier. The abundance of biological diversity revealed my earliest childhood backroad memories. Macoupin Creek merged with the Illinois River to create diverse habitats for birds, fish, insects, and forest surrounded by Illinois agriculture. Fishing and hunting methods incorporated knowledge of the biology to use the right bait and the right fishing gear at the right location. I don’t remember ever fishing there without catching several species of fish. Cleaning the fish by my uncle and cooking them for dinner by my aunt, was part of the experience. 50s childhood memories of extended family fishing trips are nostalgia to cry for.

Burma Shave signs outline 50s childhood backroad memories

In 1950 my parents had been living in Roxana Illinois for 10 years since my father had received a job offer from the Shell Oil Co to work in the refinery there in 1940. He started as a pipe fitter helper and had been promoted to shift supervisor after completing classes for certification as first-class pipefitter.  The classes included the equivalents for algebra, trigonometry, and geometry involved in designs for piping systems for small projects. After an interruption to serve in the pacific war in WWII he contemplated a weekend retreat for family leisure time. He began researching property on Lake of the Ozarks, the location of his senior high school trip in 1935 when the lake was created.

The 180-mile trip through south central Missouri to reach sites on Lake of the Ozarks took several hours. Current events and 1950s culture provided some distractions and entertainment. Missouri Ozarks views of rivers and forests on the route foreshadowed our destination. We sometimes travelled on the Memorial Day weekend. I did not have great interest in the Indianapolis 500-mile car race; however, it was a major news event and iconic for the automobile industry, so I listened during our trip. I noticed and read all of the Burma Shave signs. I remember that there were several sets of signs on that route.

I noticed the family farms and dusty dirt roads in the hills next to the highway. The rural landscape provided many examples of the property that I hoped I would someday own. The hours long views of possibilities for a future home stimulated daydreams of the perfect farm in the perfect setting. My vision conformed to the experience of what a child considered to be the necessary features for adventure and playgrounds, a creek, a pond, and small canyons with stands of hardwood forest.

On one of our trips to the lake to research property in 1951 we stopped at a marina on the South Side of Bagnell Dam, the dam on the Osage River that created Lake of the Ozarks. I don’t remember why we stopped there except that there was a real estate office nearby that we went to later that day. We walked down to the boat docks on the lake. My mother and I both had our swimming suits on, possibly anticipating where we planned to swim later that day. There was no beach just the channels between the boats. We decided to jump in. The motivation was to cool off on a hot summer day. The first swim at the marina dock was a revelation and sealed the deal.  We knew that the lake was going to be our home away from home. Lake of the Ozarks became both home and family routine.  The routine was seasonal, spring and summer until my father was transferred to Washington State 4 years later.

County Road HH, led to a dusty dirt road named Duckhead Road, where our waterfront property on Lake of the Ozarks was located.  Down the road memories of campsites on Duckhead Cove and Ozark Rivers were the detailed backstory for my 8-year-old vision of an ideal future. There was no commercial or private real estate development on the cove when we purchased the property. The road was never paved during the 4 years we camped there.  Weather did not affect the usability of the road. It was dusty with a solid foundation.  

Genesis the origin and essence of 50s childhood backroad memories

My idealized view of 19th century Missouri Ozarks culture is a loosely organized community defined by geography but without any definition as a city or political entity. The community was not a town, but families connected through common lifestyle and the challenges of a waterpower culture with no electricity. The mid 20th century definition of personal class or status I saw in my childhood view of urban industrialized America did not exist in the 19th century rural Ozark culture.  Identity and character were not related to economics, education, or a family name.  A reputation for hard work and charity defined identity and character. Infrequent but highly valued social interactions at a nearby watermill, while obtaining flour or household supplies, provided a network for local news updates. My retrospective view of the romanticized elements of the vision partially obscured the physical and emotional challenges and absence of medical services. The beauty, solitude, and connection to nature, framed the survival that required family harmony and intense cooperation.

The cultural land post for this era of American History is a novel written by Harold Bell Wright, the Sheppard of the Hills, published in 1907. The film starred John Wayne and was his first Technicolor film. The novel was the first American Fiction Novel to sell more than 1 million copies. The location for the story is Branson, Missouri, the locale for my childhood backroad memories. My grandmother Cuma Sibcy was born in the neighboring town of Brown Branch in 1900, 7 years before this novel was published. This novel was required reading for Missouri High school students when my father graduated in 1935.

My ancestor’s backroad experience in the early 20th century adds another dimension to the definition of a dusty dirt road. A backroad from a watermill in the Missouri Ozarks to a family home in 1900 might be passable only to a rider on horseback carrying a sack of flour, not wide enough for a wagon. The road, in reality a trail used primarily by travelers on foot, would be marked only by a specific hardwood tree or a rock outcropping. Travel after dark would be challenging to everyone except local residents. When I visited my Missouri ancestors in the mid 20th century they often recommended travelling before dark. The dusty dirt roads in the early 20th century Ozarks provided important connections to relatives, friends, a bank after the sale of cash crops, or a practitioner of home remedy medicine.

My childhood vision of these Ozark locations camping on the beaches and fishing and swimming in the rivers framed a sense of family and home. The nearby town of Mansfield, Missouri became the home of Laura Ingalls Wilder in 1894 when she moved there as a young adult. She did not start writing the story of her life on the Nebraska prairie until she was 32 years old, many years later. The story of the Shepard of the Hills novel set in late 19th century Missouri Ozarks is the geographic, historic, and cultural context of Laura Ingalls Wilder’s adult life.

The subsequent 75 years of experience of geology, biology, and neighborhood has not erased my 8-year-old visions. The Ozark rivers and lakes are still in some sense the most peaceful and the most beautiful. The element of shared experience with family and friends has changed, the people that influenced and shaped the 8-year-old visions are long gone. The 82-year-old vision is not defined by the old folks. It is now defined by current friends, children, and grandchildren. The childhood vision inherently lacks elements of practicality or a sense of adult responsibilities. How much of my adult time can be spent at the lake if I am working and being a parent. The 50s context of an agricultural economy and rapid industrialization transformation that provided a cultural framework is now gone.

Unfulfilled visions of 50s childhood backroad memories

The shadow of WWII and the adjustments to a rapidly emerging peacetime economy created demand for recreation from a system that was partly unstructured and partly nonexistent. The access was less commercialized compared to future generations and less constrained by regulations. Without mass media information and near zero advertising the experience was ad hoc and subject to individual initiative and creativity. For my earliest memories of camping trips there was no designated location for a lunch break or place to sleep. A view of the river or lake and a level place to park the car was where we stopped.

 

 

Interstate highways were not yet a gleam in President Eisenhower’s eye. The Ozark rivers and lakes were not yet state or national parks. There were no services at our impromptu camp sites discovered on weekend trips or vacations. There were no rules limiting where we could camp. Our shopping at army and navy surplus stores for bargain equipment served our needs without the technology and material that would be available decades later at a Recreation Equipment Incorporated store. These factors made my 8-year-old vision of childhood backroad memories more real, more personal, and more plausible. The emotional and physical connections to my anticipation of a future ideal home were more real and more plausible.

An adult view some 30 years later, is Sedona, Arizona, a reasonable substitute for childhood visions of solitude and a sense of place around the next turn. Sedona became a destination and stop over on family vacations in the 80s and 90s. Camp sites on creeks and Redrock trails became my adult vision to substitute for childhood backroad memories.  The generational connection from Ozark rivers to Slide Rock, a natural version of the slides in water parks, bridged my childhood experience. I decided that Sedona could fulfill the dimensions of nostalgia and define the sense of place for a location that could be the forever home of future generations.

My father accompanied us on a family camping trip at the Sedona Bootlegger Campground in 1996 when my daughter came home from Oregon for a spring break. That trip was a 50-year 3 generation extended family continuation of backroad geology camping traditions. He was 76 but hiked with us on the trail until the trail became a rock climb. The multigeneration trip was a joy and an honor. My father treasured his grandchildren and watched them walk across Devils Bridge.

A search for real estate options during a trip to Sedona in 2003 identified several properties with great views and abundant open space. A consideration of practicality, my home and work life in Orange County California 400 miles from Sedona, indicated that it could not. A family get together in Sedona would involve hundreds of miles of travel for my family diaspora. My extended family socials in 50s Illinois childhood connected several families located within a radius of 30 miles. The Sedona location could not serve the same purpose. Arizona locations continued serving as destinations for backroad geology and biology field trips, which my park ranger wife and I referred to as vacations. Wickenburg, Prescott, and nearby geology and archeology sites were accessible via a long weekend 3- or 4-day trip.

Park ranger family recreation and work backroads geology and biology

Interest in biology and geology motivated my family camping trips. My wife’s experience on college geology field trips inspired our research and planning for family vacations, weekends, and holidays. The frequency of trips increased to accommodate her responsibilities as a park ranger, University teacher, and on the board of directors for the Southwest US region  for an international education conservancy, National Association for Interpretation. Beginning in 1983 our itinerary and destinations were dominated by National and State parks. Backroad geology and biology locations included iconic and lesser-known destinations: lava flows, buffalo herds, earthquake faults, and bird migrations were discovered on paved highways with miles long traffic jams and dusty dirt roads with no people or cars in sight. Park ranger enthusiasm provided organized and comprehensive commentary for every view and every subject.

My wife’s favorite places to pitch a tent and put down her sleeping bag are cinder cones and lava flows. Our 56-year residence in the Western United States promoted and accelerated our exploration of backroad geology and biology. Iconic and well-known sites such as Crater Lake, Hawaii Volcanoes National Park, Mount Saint Helens, and Yellowstone got repeat visits. The well-known sites have heavy traffic and require more planning. The most exciting geology is sometimes not generally known. Craters of the Moon, Sunset Crater, Lassen, Lava Beds, and Burney Falls are examples of sites off the beaten track away from large cities and camper friendly with great facilities and awesome geology.

Lava tubes, caves formed by cooling lava flows sometimes more than a mile long, are exciting explorations for adults and children. Ape Cave at Mount Saint Helens is the longest lava tube in North America, more than 2 miles in length. Lava casts, the mold of tree root systems created by cooling lava after the tree and its root system have been burned out, provides a dramatic view of geology and biology in action.

Diverse biology, and geology coexists and interacts on local dusty dirt roads in my Southern California locale. Multipurpose roads serve diverse purposes for varieties of our interests, recreation, forest maintenance, habitat studies for butterflies, birds, and plants, and having a quiet solitary lunch by a waterfall. Our friends feed their fitness addiction by climbing 4000 feet up the road on a mountain bike. Vast marshes accommodate large tourist populations and reclaim groundwater for Southern California Counties.

The short trip radius, day trips and long weekends, from my Southern California home encompasses an abundance of backroad geology and biology adventures. Utah, Arizona, Central California, and Nevada provided many options. A short but representative list including Zion, Yosemite, Big Basin, Great Basin, Elkhorn Slough, and Canyon De Chelly are locations that were discovered on trips without children then revisited with them.  Family logistics, coordinating our work schedule with our children’s availability on holidays, often influenced our choice of destination and activities. Desert flower super blooms, butterfly migrations, and winter storm surges, became capture the moment events that prompted a response to be there right now or tomorrow morning.

Butterflies, birds and flowers, and earthquake faults have been the subject of organized college field trips. Ad hoc personal day trips, published research for habitat studies, conservation group conferences, and published photography for wildlife conservancy and education journals provides focus for personal interests. Revisiting locations to reconnect with 50s childhood backroad memories glues the past to the future. Travel, local and nationwide, expanded our experience of small towns and backroads. Some locations, like South Padre Island, were part time backroads and part time busiest road in the US. Sierra Vista Arizona, Patagonia Arizona, Morro Bay California, Santa Cruz California, Mount Vernon Washington, Huntington Beach California, McAllen Texas, Anza Borrego California, and Tallahassee Florida are representative of locations with great habitats.

Missouri has the most caves of any state. Well, that is what some of the brochures and advertising for Missouri Caves say. The state has some 7,500 recorded caves in the carbonate bedrock in southern Missouri. Some are commercialized and have daily tours. My childhood family went to the Onondaga and Meramec caves on day trips from our home in Illinois in the 50s. We took relatives on tours of these caves for family get togethers. In 1970 I took my wife to these caves on our trip to meet my Illinois relatives. This experience links to the college geology field trips my wife took in 1987. She changed professions from Information Technology to University Teacher and park ranger so she could teach geology to children on the trails in the San Gabirel Mountains. My daughter worked in Yellowstone NP for 3 summers so she could experience the wilderness with the buffaloes and grizzly bears. Caves, goldmines, and dinosaur fossils have been prominent in my family vacations to more than 100 national and state parks.

Utah has many geology national parks to choose from. In addition to the obvious choices, such as backroad views of Zion and wading the Virgin River through the canyons, the dinosaur fossils offer a museum view, a jeep off road adventure, or an up-close look hiking the trails of dinosaur tracks. Until state sponsored research and organized development of presentations and access to this fossil record began in the 1990s, word of mouth between motivated hikers and naturalists shared this information between a few people. The locations were not publicized. The directions were to turn off of highway so and so about 2 miles from so and so intersection. The tracks show the dinosaur highway 70 million years ago that became a hiker’s backroad memory in the middle 20th century that became my backroad memory in 1990 that became my children’s backroad memory.

Graduation trips commemorate childhood backroad memories

Promotion of backroad travel family traditions was a multigenerational and multidimensional exercise. High school graduation for my children was celebrated with tent camping trips covering several states. The national and state park trip menu included reconnections with my childhood backroad memories and new locations. The venues explored sampled: history, Los Alamos New Mexico site of the atomic bomb project, archaeology, Bandelier National Park, and geology, Ozark Scenic National Riverways.

The element of adventure was emphasized for graduation celebration trips. A new location, a new activity, or a challenging dusty dirt road were researched and added to the agenda. I had recently purchased a 4-wheel-drive Toyota 4-Runner when I planned my son’s graduation trip. The location I choose was on the North rim of the Grand Canyon. The destination was 65 miles from any paved roads, the ranger station was staffed by one person who I never saw, there was no electricity, no water, no entrance fee, and no campground. The view was different from the south rim. Several miles of the Colorado River were in view. The location is named Toroweap. Watch the movie.

When I researched the route, using my favorite reference, the “Arizona Travel Handbook”, the trip seemed to be challenging and foreboding. The book said: ” there are many intersections on hundreds of miles of unsigned roads leading to nowhere”. The area was Bureau of Land Management leased to cattle ranchers. There were cows but no cowboys or ranches to be seen. The book had a description of the intersections and turns to reach the north rim at Toroweap. I discovered that there was a Ranger Station in the town of Fredonia where I would turn off of the paved road and go south to the canyon. The ranger explained that the roads had been signed and that I could follow the signs to the Toroweap location. The roads were wide and graded so that I averaged more than 60 miles per hour on the route to the canyon.

On the return trip I decided to drive directly to Saint George Utah instead of back to Fredonia and then to Saint George. It was a shorter route but on a dirt road that crossed a mountain pass at 8000 feet. It was the rainy season and there had been recent rain in the mountains. The 4-Runner was mildly challenged on the steep mountain roads in deep mud. My goal with the 4-Runner was not to challenge the car, my more modest goal was to get to geology and biology sites that would be less densely populated.

Colorado prairie childhood backroad memories never never land

My childhood bedtime routine included stories by my father. My mother read from classical children’s literature. My father’s stories were from his childhood experience growing up on the Colorado prairie in the 1920s. The scene from the front porch of a house on the prairie, 17 miles from the nearest town, is unique and difficult to describe. There are no neighbors, there are no trees, there are no hills or any other identifiable topography. The view is the same in any direction. The one road in the scene is barely identifiable and blends in with the color and texture of the prairie. At the limits of vision, the sky and the prairie blend and become one object that is not either sky or prairie.  The prairie is a never never land of uncharted backroad memories. The sensation of the dust, the sound of the wind, the bite of the cold, or the sting of the sun are a distraction or the props for an 8-year-old imagination that has never seen a film or heard a radio.

At first glance the prairie seems empty. It is not. As Lewis and Clark had discovered more than 100 years earlier on their Louisiana Purchase Expedition, there are prairie dogs and prairie chickens. The plains have light rainfall, which will result in crop failures in some years, but supports some sparse grasslands. Lewis and Clark were fascinated by the prairie dogs. I have not found a description of their method of capturing them for observation. My father either invented or was taught to flood the entrance to their burrow with water then be waiting at the exit with a hat that he would use to capture them.

Plains weather is seasonal, hot and cold, and windy. Windy is the key word. The wind blows dust, rain, and snow. The wind is constant and intense. There was no electricity, no stores, and no toys for children living on the prairie. Sticks became pretend fishing poles when a rainstorm created puddles on the prairie. My father constructed a coaster wagon from scraps of wood and wheels from broken farm implements. A worn-out bed sheet worked well for a sail. In the plains wind the wagon could explore miles of prairie. A coaster wagon with a bedsheet sail transported him to many imaginary destinations.

Agriculture family life montage frames childhood backroad memories

The Best Years of our Lives was the theme of an academy award winning 1946 film. The story describes the effect of WWII on 3 returning veterans. Urban life was the context for their challenges and adjustments to pick up the threads of their prewar life. From age 4 in 1947 I observed my father, uncles, and neighbors adjust to the postwar small-town agricultural matrix in rural Illinois. My grandmother had three male children who served in the war, my father and 2 younger brothers. The youngest, Eugene, died in service after the end of the war. Because of my age, the stoic nature of the German personality, and the routine of farming activities I did not observe the effects of the grief. A multigeneration post war family theme played out in 1949 at my great uncle’s house near Ava, Missouri. The family gathering included WWI and WWII survivors to share, fishing, swimming, cave exploring, and fireflies.

The combination of recreation, daily commerce, the working life, and family gatherings required the use of an assortment of distinctive back roads. Midnight freight train crossings, the alley behind our Roxana house, 17 miles across dusty dirt of the Colorado Prairie, and the bluff on the east side of the Mississippi River defined familiar and diverse backroads. The air space above the Colorado Plains marked by a city water tower, Route 66 through Edwardsville, and a 500-mile private plane flight to an uncle’s back yard on the Colorado Prairie connected family for routine visits or a once in a lifetime adventure.

My father lived within 2 blocks of work at the Shell Oil Refinery in Roxana, Illinois from 1940 to 1954. The short walk down the alley behind our house to the refinery gate was usually a routine day in the life event and sometimes full of apprehension. On freezing snowy nightshifts, he had to contemplate climbing the rungs of an icy ladder to fix a valve in the Shell Oil Co refinery. There were no ropes or safety harnesses, one misstep meant death. He sometimes turned and looked back at the house, he thought about my mother and I asleep in bed and paused before continuing down the alley.

My father found work after his Independence High School graduation in 1935. The depression was still on. His job at Montgomery Ward Mail Order seemed to be short term. The job at Montgomery Ward paid 26 cents per hour, which was enough for a boarding house residence in 1936. Between jobs he travelled from Independence, Missouri, and other locations to visit his grandmother in eastern Colorado. When income provided barely enough to eat paying for train tickets was not an option. Hopping freight trains going in the right direction required knowledge of the schedule and where the train stopped to change tracks or take on water. A successful trip depended on these common skills that were part of the depression era culture.

Freight trains were backroads to extended family and a job search in another part of the country. The challenge and risks of freight train hopping were well understood and were part of American culture during the depression. My mother’s older brother died on his first attempt to hop a train at age 22. My father’s motivation to visit his grandmother, a matriarch who had held the family together through war, the dust bowl, and the depressions was stronger than the apprehension of hopping a train in the middle of the night during a snowstorm. The train stop was 17 miles from the farm he would visit to see his grandmother. The cold weather during the long walk caused some permanent damage to exposed skin. My father had scar tissue on his nose and ears.

My father served in the Seabees during WWII. Part of his transportation in the South Pacific war was the Saratoga aircraft carrier. He decided not to apply for training as a pilot, his brother was flying on bomber missions over Germany. He decided that another high-risk war assignment for one of her children would be too much stress for his mother. After discharge from the navy in 1945 he used his GI benefits to complete a commercial pilots license at a local airport 3 miles from our house. He kept his job at Shell Oil Company, so he only flew for recreation and personal cross-country travel.

He flew 500 hundred miles to visit an uncle in Colorado in 1948. The destination was on a farm on the prairie. During his childhood and young adult life my father had walked this area of the prairie near Eads Colorado many times and knew the rivers, lakes and small towns that identified this location. There was no airport or runway, he landed in his uncle’s back yard. The backroad, airflight, was marked by rivers, cities, and other landmarks to find a house surrounded by miles of empty prairie.

A reunion including my father’s brothers and an uncles’ families was arranged occur in Ava, Missouri in 1949. The family gathering of veterans, when I was six years old, seeded 50s childhood backroad memories of creeks, caves, fireflies, and nearby spring fed lakes. For my dairy farming cousins, the Ozark setting provided recreation in between the morning and afternoon chores to operate the dairy farm. Bryant Creek was at the doorstep. In the early 50s canoeing and kayaking was not yet a popular recreational activity. The creek did provide a supply of bait for one of the prime recreation activities, fishing in the nearby creeks. Fifteen minutes with a net in the evening provided bait for the next morning’s trip to a larger creek. The multigeneration gathering reflection on US and far-flung continents backroad memories honored comrades who did not survive or were recovering their prewar life.

Reunions were ad hoc special occasion and generation reconnections

1950s hot summer nights baseball and backroad ice cream socials were a family ad hoc agenda. I don’t remember any phone calls or discussions to plan the events that I would describe as impromptu ice cream socials. This scenario started the first year that I played Little League baseball, 1951 in Illinois. The standard summer weather, near Saint Louis Missouri, was a primary element. Before air conditioning mitigation or escape from the humid heat was a constant goal. My grandparents farm, the location for the social gathering, was a half hour drive from home. We left immediately after the baseball game. The recipe for the homemade ice cream required about one-half hour to prepare. We talked baseball and ate ice cream for an hour or so then back home. This summer routine is one of the primary threads of my childhood life and a forever memory. Family reunion ice cream socials are treasured childhood backroad memories.

In 1955 my father was transferred to Washington State from Illinois. The extended family connections: grandparents, cousins, aunts, and uncles that were a few blocks or a short drive from our house in Roxana, Illinois were no longer part of our family life. The terminology for this is called diaspora, population that is scattered across regions separate from its geographic origin. After the diaspora our annual vacations became treks to reconnect family. We drove from Northwest Washington back to Illinois every year for several years. Our travel methodology was a common practice, we drove straight through meaning that once we started, we did not stop until we reached the destination.  My father’s technique for driving straight through was even more extreme. We only stopped for gas, not food or water or to use a restroom.

Aunts, uncles, and cousins lived on dusty dirt roads in rural Missouri. They had moved from Illinois and decided to retire in Missouri. They were not operating farms but enjoyed the farm sized plots, open space, and solitude. The hospitality and updates for our families bridged the 40-year gap since I had lived on the family farm with them in Illinois as a child and experienced a relationship more like brother and sister than aunt and uncle. On my business trips in the 90s, I planned the backroad treks to relatives as part of my agenda.

My new house at age 4, constructed in 1947 by my father, was on the intersection of two alleys. I am not sure what the origin for this design of the town, that was plotted in 1922, was intended to accomplish.  The streets were narrow. I don’t remember any cars ever being parked on the street. We parked our car in the north south oriented alley or in back of the house. The east west alley had a concrete trash bin for our house. There was no regular trash pickup. The trash was incinerated. For the very small downtown, only 3 blocks, the alley was the shortest access from our house. The city offices and community services building next door, not constructed until 1938, had a library, theater, and gymnasium. There was an informal open house to celebrate our move from a rented house to new house. There was no rent payment or mortgage.

 

I lived in Roxana, Illinois from birth in 1943 until 1955. My father’s family and ancestors had lived in this part of Illinois since 1827 when my great great grandfather was born in Marine Township, a few miles east. The culture was small town agriculture except for the impact of the oil industry in the early 1900s. The nation’s rapid increase in demand for gasoline and oil products along with the use of the Mississippi River transportation corridor for distribution, resulted in the construction of 2 oil refineries within 1 mile of each other. A Standard Oil Co refinery in 1907 and a Shell Oil Refinery in 1918 transformed life to large scale industry surrounded by family farm agriculture. The refineries provided more than 5000 jobs.

My oil industry relatives, aunts, uncles, and cousins lived within a few blocks. The family interactions were weekly. Their living rooms were as familiar as my own. Playing cards, plans for fishing trips, the labor relations at Shell Oil Co where my relatives worked, and local sports were the threads of family life. My childhood memories of family relationships before Tv are the most vivid of my childhood life. I noted the differences in personalities and measured the interactions by who served popcorn and who served tapioca pudding. I have the sense that family relationships were more connected and intense when houses were smaller and relatives lived in the same neighborhood. In small towns where you could walk to your aunt’s house blindfolded all of the streets were backroads and every street was 50s childhood backroad memories.

My mother’s lifelong wish was to visit native American ruins in the southwest. I had been to Mesa Verde NP 3 years earlier and decided this would be a good choice for our trip from California to Illinois for an extended family reunion. The campground at 8000 feet elevation had cool summer days, secluded private campsites, and expansive views of the southwest. The restaurant, named FarView, had floor to ceiling windows with views of Monument Valley, Ship Rock, and lightning storms in the Arizona Mountains all at the same time. The ruins are forever memories for my son and mother. For the adventurous the ladders to climb the cliff face do not have any ropes or rails to hang on to.

20th century Americans shared generations of backroad memories

My home in Roxana, Illinois, about 20 miles northeast of Saint Louis, Missouri was less than one mile from the Mississippi River. If you listed all of the historical events and activity for the previous 1000 years and then put a pencil down on a map to mark the focal point the dot would be in my front yard. French explorers sailing up the Mississippi in the 17th century, the Lewis and Clark camp in 1804, Indian Culture trade routes, and river boat traffic from the 1830s would have all been visible from the location of that dot on the map.

The Mississippi River and its tributaries was an ancient superhighway connecting the Mississippi Indian culture city of Cahokia, population 20,000 in 1000 AD, with a far-flung network of villages. The river was an unknown backroad for exploration of the North American continent by French explorers in the 17th century.  Lewis and Clark set up their base camp for exploration on the Mississippi about one mile south of my Roxana house. Mark Twain passed within 1 mile of my front yard when he captained his first trip to New Orleans 1n 1859. Travellers on the Oregon Trail purchased their supplies in Saint Louis to join the first wagon train starting in Independence, Missouri in 1836. Saint Louis was a village then the gateway to the west.

Roxana was a walking town. Main street became a backroad when the intercity highway was routed around the city. The traffic for the tiny business district was by foot. It was a rare event to see a car driving on the main street. A two-block walk would get you to restaurants, groceries, the library, household items like cloth to make clothes, to work, and the theater.

Hunting trip childhood backroad memories sense of place montage

My childhood hunting experience was primarily as a tag along. I left Illinois in 1955 at age 11. The hunting opportunities in Madison County, Illinois where I lived were limited. The hardwood forests had been replaced by crops. The last wolf in the county had been killed by my uncle in 1940, 3 years before I was born. The deer and bear were gone decades before that. There were rabbits. I only remember a family member shooting a rabbit and preparing it for food once. There did not seem to be much interest in rabbits for food. The family raised chickens, ducks, and pigs. I ate rabbit once and did not like the taste. There were quail. My great grandfather shot quail from his front yard in the 1880s. My father had a shot gun and shot quail but did not engage in regular hunting. Hunting in Illinois was, from my childhood view, a backyard kind of thing.

When we moved to Washington State in 1955 the hunting opportunities multiplied. There were deer in Skagit County where we lived. My father bought a tag to hunt deer every year for several years. My father butchered the deer that he killed and then stored the meat at a cold storage facility in town. The strategy for hunting deer was to be on the trail where the deer lived before sunrise. When the deer came out of the brush to go to their grazing area the hunter would be around a bend in the trail or hiding in the brush waiting for them. I remember the cold damp mornings that we waited in the dark for hours to see a deer coming out of the fog. The deer that I remember being shot were killed from an open window of a car stopped at the side of a road. We saw the deer on a hillside stopped the car and my neighbor sitting in the back seat shot him. The San Juan Islands became a matrix of waterways 50s childhood backroad memories via our private boat. Hunting, fishing, exploring the forests and strolling the beaches became an expansive neighborhood routine adding dimensions to 50s backroad memories.

The exploration adventure lifestyle that my parents had exhibited in Illinois to explore the Gulf Coast, the Eastern Seaboard, and the Great Lakes, continued after we moved to Washington State. My father and his neighbor from Texas wanted to hunt black bear. They had arranged for access to a wilderness area they called Morris Ranch on the slopes of Mount Baker. The trip from the paved highway was at least 10 miles up a very dusty dirt road. The dust was so thick that the 2 cars took turns leading so that the following car would get a break from the dust. The campsite, a level place to park the cars and set up the tents, did not have any services. We split into 2 groups of hunters and walked/ climbed the mountain slopes for 2 days but did not see any bear. We crossed the Nooksack River at a shallow spot. It was early fall, and the salmon spawn was at its height. We saw and felt many salmon swim between our legs. It turned out to be a hiking trip, not a hunting trip, but the mountain trails and the river were an awesome experience.

A new neighborhood at age twelve 50s childhood backroad memories

Skagit County, population 40,000 in 1955 was about 2000 square miles with hundreds of miles of backroads. I was familiar with many of those backroads. to travel to, the local college, dancehalls in the middle of the farm fields, girlfriends in neighboring towns, athletic events throughout the county, the church we attended in Bellingham 30 miles north, the Skagit River delta where we fished, the beaches where the college kids assembled for impromptu beer guzzling, and the canning factories and harvesting facilities.

Forty first street in Anacortes, Washington was not paved when we move there in 1955. The street, only one block from my house if I walked through my neighbors back yard, led to two of my favorite 12-year-old hangouts. One half mile east was a hill on the edge a forest that we called Cow Hill. One half mile west was Heart Lake. The summit of Cow Hill required a short scramble up the rocky face. The access, not on a trail or a sidewalk, made it a children’s hangout. Adults never went there even though the panoramic view of ocean and mountains was the best on the island. There were only a few of the neighborhood children who claimed this place. It was a private club. Cow Hill was an important element of my backroad childhood view of the world at age 12 and became part of the definition of home. One of my most important 50s childhood backroad memories has likely disappeared in the backyard of a housing tract developed on the top of the hill.

San Juan Islands boat trips are 50s childhood backroad memories

Thatcher Pass became a most memorable back road in 1955. Seventy years later I still dream of one more trip. My father purchased a boat soon after we moved from Illinois to Washington State. Because we had never been to the San Juan Islands in Washington State some research was needed to determine the kind of boat that was needed for recreational fishing and exploration of the nearby 177 island group. A boat building business in the small town where we lived, Anacortes Washington, provided advice. There was a standard for recreational fishing, a 16-foot, deep hulled boat powered by a 25 or 30 horsepower outboard engine. Two of our neighbors and an uncle, who had recently moved to Anacortes were fishermen and also purchased the standard boat.

Thatcher Pass, a narrow strait between Blakely and Decatur Islands, was the route we often took to reach destinations for fishing, hunting, or tourist locations in Canada. Orcas Island, one of the largest and most populated, had a marina, a high school, and services for a few thousand residents. On the first trip I remember we stopped at the marina for fuel. We hunted on San Juan Island. Victoria Canada was about 40 miles farther west. We travelled to Victoria for the botanical gardens, Butchart Gardens, and the shops in downtown Victoria. The Victoria boat trip, sometimes by state ferry and sometimes by private boat, was part of the genesis or reawakening of a long-term relationship. My future wife took this trip in 1968. My aunt Barbara took this trip on her first visit to Washington State in 1956. On my children’s first trip to Washington in 1978 we travelled by ferry to Victoria and returned in 1987. The trips to the San Juan Islands with my children were relationship milestones and forever memories.

There were many favorite family hangouts in nearby islands, a few miles from where we launched our boat at Sunset Beach in Anacortes. We fished for cod at Bird Rocks, hiked and climbed the crude trails to Eagle Peak on Cypress Island, and walked the dusty dirt roads on San Juan Island hunting rabbits. Spencer Spit, a long sandy beach on Lopez Island, was a short boat trip and perfect for a picnic. Mount Constitution on Orcas Island provided a view of city lights from Seattle Washington to Vancouver British Columbia. San Juan Island had thousands of acres of private land that was not farmed but populated by hybrid wild rabbits. Hunting there came with solitude, awesome beauty, and a childhood companion who became a lifelong friend.

Most of the salmon fishing we did was at a spot my father had researched on the Skagit River. The location was a favorite for fishermen who had identified a bend near the delta where salmon came into the river on low tide. We fished in the ocean at Strawberry Island. After sonar became available for sport fishing more fishing was in the ocean by using sonar to find them.

James Island was the right place to celebrate July 4th in 1957 when we were 2 thousand miles from traditional family locations. Finding solitude was a 1-mile boat trip to a secluded picturesque beach. Our friends from Illinois, who had moved to Washington State for work at the Shell Refinery and lived across the street, independently responded to an inspiration and joined us for a surprise reunion and holiday celebration. Our relationship from 2000 miles away in Illinois reconnected on James Island.

My childhood San Juan Islands experience was expressed in my adult life decades later. When I took my girlfriend, my future wife, to meet my parents in 1968 we took the ferry trip through the islands to Victoria. On our first family vacation with our children in 1978 we travelled to Orcas Island. I came close to buying property in the islands on that trip but changed my mind because it was not on the beach at the price I was anticipating. On trips for High School reunions in 1998, 2001, and 2011 I shopped for property in the islands.  We stayed at bed and breakfast inns on Lopez and Orcas islands. We quickly learned the traditions for Lopez Island. During our last visit the population of the 30 square mile island was 2000. Although the traffic is light on roads and trails, the tradition of greeting everyone you meet is consistently demonstrated. If you are driving the greeting is a wave with your fingers without taking your hands off of the steering wheel.

One of the most iconic adventures of my childhood was a family hike/climb to Eagle Peak on Cypress Island. There was no ferry service to that island. We took our private boat about 3 miles from Sunset Beach On Fidalgo Island where we lived to a beach on Cypress Island. We thought we saw a trail from where we beached the boat. In 1955, the date of this trip, I believe the population was 0, although there was a boy scout camp occasionally used. 50 years later the population had grown to 40 for an 8 square mile island. The trail was not maintained and did not reach the peak. My brother was 6 and I was 12. We all reached the peak with some climbing on the cliff face. There were deer on the island which almost ran over us as they came bounding down through the forest and jumped over the trail.

One room country school childhood backroad memories

My ancestors walked backroads to a one room country school on the Illinois prairie from the 1890s until 1947 when my aunt finished the 8th grade. Southern Illinois weather was a combination of mild and severe. 90-degree days were common in the fall. Children caught in sudden bursts of freezing rain were coated in ice when they arrived at school and had to spend time recovering by the stove. There were no busses for transportation. The walk was less than 2 miles for most students.

During the 19th century there was an option for students to choose a continuation of 2 more years to take more advanced classes equivalent to high school. The orientation was for agriculture related subjects. The education supplemented the experience operating a dairy farm. Beginning botany, awareness of markets for farm products, seasons and climates, and raising animals was part of the curriculum.

Backroad memories thread American History and national culture

Many Arizona backroads lead to iconic American Southwest History locations. Fort Bowie, Tombstone, Tuscon, Yuma, and many other locations attract tourists. The old west tourist interest persists but has faded and changed since the peak in the 1950s when there were more than 100 dude ranches, resorts that simulated cattle ranches in Tuscon. The ancient Indian ruins and 19th century mining towns like Bisbee and Jerome enhance the menu of American History. The backroads to historic sites are predominantly paved roads. There are many ghost towns and mining sites that require significant hikes to reach, some sites require water, topographic maps, and planning. The historic sites are often embedded in geology and biology that motivates a second trip. In my 40 years of travel to Arizona I certainly have not seen everything and am motivated to repeat many of the trips. My adult life added dimensions to my 50s childhood backroad memories. Driving through a mining town like Jerome Arizona melts the geology and history together.

The combinations of backroad geology, biology, and history have prompted many return trips to North Central Arizona. The logistics involve 3-to-4-day trips for the 350 miles from my home in Southern California. In addition to my nationwide favorite campgrounds in Sedona there are several archaeology sites, ghost towns, awesome Redrock hikes, off road vehicle trails, floating or swimming in rivers, herds of elk, aspen in color and more. Montezuma Castle, Walnut Canyon, Tuzigoot, Jerome, Wupatki, Sunset Crater and other attractions can keep you busy for weeks if you have the time. Although the town can be very crowded on holidays, Prescott has an old west flavor well worth the visit. The atmosphere and the food are great.  My first trip to Prescott in 1959 immediately created the feeling that this place is beautiful and different. Prescott was discovered by Californians in the 1980s and the rapid increase in population changed the town. My memories of the 1950s town are still vivid. The Verde Canyon train ride is an experience that I would enjoy repeating. The combination of geology and old west history is absorbing. There is a sing along component of the trip. A country music artist performs for most of the trip. I would like to sing Boxcar Blues with the passengers on that train again.

Route 66 was like other roads across the US before 1935 except that there were no dead ends, and the signs told you where you were. The section from Chicago south through Illinois small towns to cross over the Mississippi River into Missouri provided travelers access to services but no picturesque locations. Most of the sites that have undergone some restoration are in New Mexico and Arizona.  During my childhood, until age 12, I rode a section of Route 66 in Edwardsville Illinois once or twice per week. My childhood travel on Route 66 in Illinois was memorable because of the routine but not dramatic locations. I have travelled Interstate 40 from Flagstaff west parallel to the Route 66 route many times. I have taken side trips to some of the sections of Route 66 that remain. Oatman Arizona is one of those places.

Air shows which were very popular in the 1930s suddenly revived after the end of WWII. The local airport at Bethalto, Illinois about 3 miles from my house, had been created by an entrepreneur in the early 40s. The airport services were noncommercial, only people who could afford to buy or rent a plane used the airport. My father had obtained a commercial license with his GI bill benefits. One of our family routines was what I would call a Sunday fly, instead of a Sunday drive. The rent for a one-hour flight was $10. The local airshow did not have any military aircraft fly overs or demonstrations. The main event, if you could call it that, was ten-minute flights for sale at 25 cents. A takeoff, one loop around the airport, and a landing was the entertainment. The ten-minute flights were very popular with children who had never been on a plane. The airshows at nearby Saint Louis, Missouri did include military aircraft fly overs and displays of the latest generation of fighter and bomber aircraft including the X-15 which had recently broken the sound barrier in 1947.

Becky Thatcher and Huckleberry Finn, characters in Mark Twain’s Tom Sawyer adventures, travelled Hanibal, Missouri backroads in the 1840s. They travelled to caves, the riverboat docks, the Mississippi River, and other childhood hangouts. Mark Twain’s childhood backroad memories became the setting for the heart, soul, and demons of 19th century American Culture expressed in the Adventures of Huckleberry Finn. These backroads near Hanibal became the 20th century Missouri Great River Road. The 20th century Great River Road tells the story of world scale commerce and an ecosystem that encompasses the biology and geology of the North American Continent.

WWII survivor creates family backroad memories

The return from WWII, revival of an interrupted family life, and the economic outlook previewing the end of the recession morphed a young couple’s lifestyle. For some combination of reasons that I never completely understood, my parents had travelled to 9 states from the time I was 3 years old, when my father had returned from the war, until I was 5. I have always had vivid memories of the locations which varied from south, north, and east. We had travelled to Texas Gulf Coast, Minnesota Lakes, Savannah Georgia and places in between.

In 1949 we travelled to Georgia for our vacation. The Savannah Georgia seawall made music in the night. Our hotel was on a street next to the seawall. The sound was not distracting or disturbing to my 6-year-old senses.  There was a rhythm to the sound of the waves breaking that added to the sensation of that place. I had seen the Gulf of Mexico the year before, but from a distance. I had never walked on an ocean beach or heard the waves.

The matrix of ocean, beach, sunburn, and reading my first comic books made childhood memories that are among the most detailed and vivid of my 6-year-old experience. I remember being on the beach without a shirt for several hours and that I was impressed by how big the beach was and how beautiful the ocean was. Whether sunscreen had not yet been invented or mostly ignored, the general approach was to get exposure gradually early in the season and develop a tan for protection. This event was early in the season. I developed a very painful sunburn. I remember the pain was keeping me awake, and that I did not sleep much that night.

My parents had brought a few of my favorite comic books along for the trip. I don’t remember reading them during the car trip. Maybe the purpose was to entertain me during the hotel stay. Tv as an entertainment option was years in the future and radios were not available in the hotel or in most cars. Favorite cartoon characters came with my early reading experience. The cartoon film genre began in the early 30s and some of the characters had become well established by the time I was able to read. I had seen cartoon presentations at the theater and followed the character’s adventures. Mighty Mouse stories were in comic books by 1942 and became my favorite. The cartoon characters lived on in various Tv and film incarnations until the 1980s.

The date for the family trip to Tennessee is not certain. I believe it was 1950 or 1951. There was an event during the trip that linked to the Ozzie and Harriett Tv program, but that show was not on Tv until 1952.  The children I met at a church we attended during the trip were named David and Ricky, since we were in Tennessee this was obviously not the Hollywood Nelsons. There was an element of travel through small town highways in the late 40s or early 50s that represents the culture of the post war years. We always stopped to pick up men in service uniform that were hitch hiking.

When I saw the rock hills at Iron Mountain Tennessee they shouted, climb me. The only thing I could climb near my house in Illinois was trees. Children’s urge to climb was evident. Several trees in my neighborhood had crude ladders and other assisted climbing. Most of the years in elementary school one or more of my classmates had a broken arm in a cast. I am not sure which gene is the one for climbing but I know there is one. Illinois is a flat state; there are no hills to climb. The trail at Iron Mountain was not very challenging. I was soon on top. Climbing the rocks at Iron Mountain Tennessee is a vivid childhood backroad memory.

The childhood thrill of climbing the nearest hill transferred to other places and other states. In Washington State Mount Erie on Fidalgo Island was about one mile from my house. I climbed Mount Erie frequently for several years beginning at age 12. It might occur to you that climbing hills has obvious risks. I did not do high tech rope assisted climbing. The farthest that I ever fell was about 15 feet. The fall caused a very severe concussion that resulted in a hospital stay to recover.

Sometimes backroad locations lie dormant and unknown for long periods of time and are then discovered. Such is the case with Vasquez Rocks about 50 miles north of Los Angeles on highway 14. I began travelling to this part of Southern California to investigate earthquake geology in the 1980s. The California Poppy Preserve, where mind blowing super blooms occur every 4 or 5 years, is in the same area. The property at Vasquez Rocks was initially purchased for agriculture but was unproductive. The geology was discovered by silent film producers and then used extensively for Western films in the 1930s. The location will look very familiar to visitors who are Star Trek fans. Many episodes of the TV series and Films were shot there. The attraction for a large number of current visitors is the trail system and varieties of climbing challenges ranging from an easy ascent of 30 or 40 feet to more than 300 feet. The views of awesome geology go with the death-defying climbs. Most of the climbs near the parking lot were suitable for children. This location is now part of my backroad’s memories.

At another place and another time my first fishing trip with my father in 1949 was to Bull Shoals Lake in the Arkansas Ozarks. It was not quite a lake yet. The dam was recently completed, and the lake was being filled. The lake crossed the border between Arkansas and Missouri and covered parts of both states. This part of the US was agricultural and very sparsely populated. The nearby county of Douglas, Missouri where my cousins lived was 850 square miles with a population of 13,000. This does not quite meet Daniel Boone’s criteria for not being able to see the smoke from your neighbor’s chimney. This population density does mean that every road is a backroad. The hardwood forest fall colors on a lake with more than 1000 miles of shoreline would meet many people’s definition of paradise. Backroad travels by foot or by car would be in a private paradise. I chose an urban life. Sometimes I wonder why.

Epilogue: backroad memories are never far away wherever they are

My initial motivation for this post was to catalogue places and related experience from travelling backroads in childhood that had made a lasting impression. I soon discovered that the backroad experience was paths through family traditions, personal relationships, the choices for recreation and professions, and a detailed view of personal and national history. The backstory to connect generations provided explanations for the who, what, when, and where of the story. The backroads and places they led to have a presence and personality that underlines and enhances the reason I still remember them. My focus on 5os childhood backroad memories has revealed dimensions of where I came from, where I am now, and where I want to be.