A New Adventure Begins

Across the Fence #497

After 46 years in the graphic arts, advertising, marketing, and public relations business, the time has come to close the door on those chapters of my life and open the door to the next chapter. On May 30th, I’ll be retiring. It’s time.

I’m the oldest of four children in our family. I think they were beginning to worry that I was never going to retire. They thought the oldest should retire first. My brother, David, finally retired last fall. I think he got tired of waiting for me to pull the plug. He’s been enjoying retirement and thinks everyone should try it. Now maybe my sister, Janet, can start thinking about retiring too. Brother Arden is still too young to retire. They probably hate when I mention them in stories, but I couldn’t ask for any better sister and brothers.

The "Sherpe Pose" at last summer's reunion.

L-R: Howard, Janet, Arden, and David

People ask me what I’m going to do with my time. Don’t worry, I’ll keep plenty busy. I’ve always been a workaholic. I think that work ethic was instilled in us at an early age, working on the farm. Anyone who grew up on a farm knows what I mean. One thing I’m looking forward to is getting away from the stress of constant deadlines that I’ve dealt with for over 40 years.

In case someone thinks I’m just going to sit around watching TV and vegetate, don’t worry, that’s not me. I plan to keep busy. I’ve never been able to just sit and do nothing. Even though I’m retiring from my day job, I still have all my evening and weekend jobs, only now I’ll be able to do them during daylight hours instead of at night when I’m mentally tired and worn out. Maybe that weariness has a little to do with age too. I hate to admit it but I don’t have the energy I used to have. I guess I’m not 21 anymore, or 31, or 41, or 51, or 61. Now I’m traveling down Highway 70, heading for Highway 71. Uff da, how did that happen so fast? I’m not complaining. At least I’m still traveling down the road and looking forward to new adventures.

Many people have been concerned that I was also going to retire from writing “Across the Fence” each week. Let me assure you that I plan to continue writing this column as long as I can, and as long as you want to read it and the publishers and editors want to run it. I’ve been very lucky being able to visit with you each week for the past ten years. 

Besides writing, I also have a book publishing business, Prairie Viking Press. I’ll continue that business and do more wood carvings like my Norwegian ancestors did. I’ll no longer be taking on commissions to do specific carvings for people. I’ve done hundreds of them over the years, but now it’s time to carve what I want to carve, when I want to carve it. I want to carve for fun and not deal with the deadlines of filling orders.

I don’t plan to let the grass grow under my feet. There are trout streams to explore, wildlife areas to hike and enjoy, and new places to discover. It will be easier to take off and visit our kids and grandson too. If I want to go and sit in our woods on a beautiful day and listen to the wind rustling the leaves of the trees, I’ll do it. The solitude of the woods is a great place to sit and write. Our back deck is also a great place for inspiration. Recently seven deer came up across the field from the pond and went across our back lawn. Last week I found what was left of a rabbit near our birdfeeder–one rabbit’s foot attached to a few bones. That certainly wasn’t a lucky rabbit’s foot for that guy. I suspect a coyote had a meal during the night. There are lots of stories just waiting to be told, all around us, every day. We just need to take time to listen and observe.

It’s been great working for Vernon Telephone Cooperative for the past seven-plus years. It’s a company where we care about the service we provide to our members. Those people are our neighbors “across the fence.” They don’t deal with some faceless person in a foreign country if they have a problem. I liked that personal feeling of knowing and helping our neighbors. For over thirty years my advertising business was built on providing personal service to my clients. Vernon Telephone has the same philosophy. It’s been a great place to work, but now it’s time to head off to the life of no alarm clocks, except the one in my head. 

There are some wonderful quotes regarding retirement. “Retirement is wonderful. You can do nothing without worrying about getting caught at it.” “Don’t simply retire from something; have something to retire to.” “Retire from work, but not from life.” “The trouble with retirement is that you never get a day off.” Another quote I like regarding getting older: “First you forget names; then you forget faces; then you forget to zip your fly; and then you forget to unzip your fly.” 

Retirement may be the closing of one door, but it’s also the opening of another door to a whole new adventure. I’m ready!

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Memorial Day - A Time To Remember

Across the Fence #496

When I think of Memorial Day, I associate it with remembering all the servicemen and women who have died. For the majority of Americans it will be a Monday holiday when they don’t have to work. It’s a time for family outings, cookouts, and relaxing. Some people will spend time in cemeteries planting flowers on family members graves.

This year I won’t be giving any speeches to groups on Memorial Day. For too many years I’ve been a speaker at Memorial Day and Veteran’s Day programs and have declined several invitations this year. This year I will accompany the Westby VFW on Monday morning as we go to cemeteries around the Westby area and do a rifle salute to those veterans who are no longer with us. It’s the least I can do to remember and honor fellow veterans.

Memorial Day has also been a time for us to remember family members by planting flowers. I learned the importance of that by accompanying my parents when I was young. It also helped me know and appreciate my ancestors.

Many years ago my mother wanted to go for a ride on Wang Road and the ridge where she grew up, and then down in the Kickapoo Valley area to Bloomingdale. She wanted to show us where she had gone to church when she was young. I’d never been to the Bloomingdale Church and cemetery before that time. This was before I became interested in genealogy and didn’t realize Bloomingdale’s importance to our family history.

My mother was still in good health at the time and could walk around. She wanted me to know where some of my ancestors were buried. She showed us an old tombstone. It contained names that I’d never heard of before. On one side it said Anne Pederson Korsveien (1802–1892). The other side of the tombstone had Agnethe Andersdatter Korsveien (1827-1912), Anne’s daughter. My mother said they were my great, great great, and great, great grandmothers on her father’s side (Oscar Hanson).

Since that time, we’ve visited the cemetery many times. It had been many years since anyone had left a flower there, so Linda and I bring flowers each year. If it wasn’t for the lives of these two women, I wouldn’t be here. Since that first visit to their graves, I’ve learned their story and they didn’t have an easy life. Annie and her family traveled from Norway to the Coon Prairie area in 1854, only to find out Annie’s husband, who had gone ahead to establish a home for them, had been killed by lightning a month earlier. That was a tough beginning to a new life in this country. I didn’t want them to be forgotten. The least we can do is remember them with a flower. 

This year I’ll also remember several friends and relatives who died recently. When you live in small town, rural America, you know a lot of people. That means you attend a lot of visitations and funerals. During a short period we lost nine friends and relatives. You not only know the person, but in most cases you know many of the family members. Some of them were from my parent’s generation, who I had known since I was young. But there was also Hjordis Helgestad, a classmate from high school, who was related to me. I was a pallbearer at her funeral. Death gets very personal when someone your age dies. It reminds us that we aren’t going to live forever and we better make good use of the time we have remaining. I’ll miss her this year during Westby’s Syttende Mai. We were always next to each other in the Heritage Tent. She did her Hardanger embroidery and I’d do Norwegian folk art wood carving. Norwegian heritage was important to both of us. Her father grew up on a neighboring farm to my maternal grandmother along Lake Mjøsa in Norway.

Another relative was Merlin Rudie, 90. My great grandfather and his grandfather were brothers. My great grandfather kept the Sherpe farm name from Norway and his grandfather dropped it and went by Hanson. Their father was Hans Hanson Skjerpe. Many from that first generation in America didn’t think they could use their Norwegian farm name here. It gets very confusing when searching for your ancestral line. Merlin’s wife, Lorraine, died three months earlier. 

Randolph (Rand) Constalie, 94, died. He shared many of his writings with me over the years. I had the pleasure of interviewing him a couple years ago for an Across the Fence video program on our local channel. He was a brilliant man, full of life, full of curiosity, and always searching for answers to life’s hard questions, right up to the end. He was a kindred spirit and I will miss him.

There was also Harlan Fremstad, who I have known since I was young. We are related to the Fremstad family. I sometimes think I’m related to half the people in the Westby area. 

Alden Olson, Mary Ann Ghelf, and Sherman Erickson were three more people we knew who died in April. Our long-time family friend, Lincoln Stafslien, died in January.  

This Memorial Day we’ll remember those people and all the other friends and relatives who went before them. They were part of our lives and part of who we are today.

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Our Ancestors Were Tough

Across the Fence #495w (Syttende Mai Extra)

The trip from Norway to America was rough for Anne Larsdatter Korsveien and her family when they left their home near Biri, Norway in 1854. Anne, 51, was accompanied by her son Peder, 25, and daughter, Agnethe, 27, along with Agnethe’s husband, Kristian Goldseth and their two-year old daughter, Anna. After the long trip, Anne was tired, homesick, and wishing they were back on their farm near Lake Mjøsa. Instead they were finally nearing their destination of Coon Prairie in Bad Axe County, Wisconsin, in America.

Anne Larsdatter Korsveien

My maternal great, great, great grandmother

Agnethe Andersdatter and Kristian Goldseth

My maternal great, great, grandparents

They were all looking for a better life and the chance to own their own farm in this wonderful land that earlier immigrants from Biri had written home about.

Anne’s husband, Anders Pederson Fremstad, had left for America two years earlier in 1852, along with other men from Biri. They went to stake out land and start their farms before their families arrived. Anne was looking forward to seeing Anders again.

As the group neared Coon Prairie, they met some people on the trail. Anne asked if they knew where Anders Fremstad lived. They had sad news for Anne and her family. Anders had been struck and killed by lightning a month earlier. They buried him on the land he had begun to clear and farm. The news hit Anne like a kick in the stomach. Here they were in a strange land and her whole world was crumbling around her. Her husband was dead. What was she to do now? 

That same summer of 1854, another family left Fåberg, Norway to seek a new life in America. Hans Olson Rustad, 33, his wife, Martha Knutsdatter Ensrud, 35, and their seven-year old son, Ole Hanson, also headed for Coon Prairie, Wisconsin. Friends who had left earlier had written back to Norway and given glowing reports about the paradise they’d found. There were wide-open prairies where they could own many acres of rich farmland, not the small areas of rocky soil they’d been farming in Norway. In America they could own their own farm, not just be a husmann, a hired hand, with no hope of owning their own land in the future.

During the long voyage to America, cholera broke out on the ship. Martha came down with the disease and died two days after arriving in America. Due to the fear of contracting cholera, she and other victims were hastily buried in unmarked potter’s graves. Hans and Ole were now alone in a strange country where they had no family and couldn’t speak the language. The only thing they could do was keep going and try to find their friends at Coon Prairie. They traveled as far as Koshkonong, a Norwegian settlement in southern Wisconsin, where their money ran out. To earn money so they could get to Coon Prairie, Hans found work on the railroad that was being built near Madison. Ole stayed with a family in Koshkonong. In the fall, Hans took what little money they had and he and Ole continued on to Coon Prairie, where he hoped to find his friends from Norway.

When they finally arrived in the fall of 1854, many men were preparing to leave the area and head north to pineries at Black River Falls, where they would work during the winter months. Hans left Ole in the care of some friends near a place called Bloomingdale. He then joined the other men to work as a lumberjack in order to earn money. 

This was not the life Hans had expected when he left Norway. Instead of a paradise he found himself in his worst nightmare. He wished they’d never left Norway. Martha would still be alive if he hadn’t insisted on seeking a better life for them in America.

  

What was to become of these two families who had begun their journey that summer with great hopes and dreams of a better life in America? Now their dreams were shattered. They had each lost a family member, were starting over with little money, and had no idea what to do next. It wouldn’t be easy, but they had nothing to go back to in Norway either. In order to afford the trip to America, they had sold everything they owned, except what they could pack into steamer trunks and carry on the voyage. Their new life would have to begin in this foreign environment they found themselves in. 

Anne was now the head of her family in this strange land, and felt responsible for their survival. Anne’s husband, Anders, had been one of the early immigrant settlers on Coon Prairie, and had chosen a nice piece of land high on the prairie, where the land was open and easy to work. At least they would have a place to stay. Anders had built a small log cabin on their property, but it would be very crowded for five people to live there. Anders hadn’t planned on Agnethe and her family living with them. A simple outhouse was nearby.  

He had acquired a few animals that were kept in a simple log barn he’d built. Chickens were in a small enclosure attached to the barn. After Anders was killed, neighbors had taken the animals because there was no one to care for them. They returned the animals to Anne. There was a wooded area nearby, where deer and other wild animals could be hunted for food, and timber could be cut for heating and cooking. 

Unfortunately, the farm was far from a water source, and too high on the prairie to dig a well and hit a water table. At first Anders and his neighbors had built a dam across a small ravine where water ran during heavy rains and during the spring thaw. That stagnant water was all right for the cattle, but wasn’t fit for people to drink. It also tended to dry up during the summer if there wasn’t enough rain. 

Drinking water and water to cook with was collected in rain barrels or carried from the nearest creek. To reach the creek they made their way down a steep, wooded hill into the coulee where a creek ran that emptied into the meandering Kickapoo River. That journey to get water was a tough round trip. 

Anne quickly realized that lack of a convenient water supply was going to be a problem. Anne and Agnethe even had to wash their clothes in the creek. Clean clothes became a luxury, not a necessity. 

At least there was food available. The cow produced enough milk to drink and make butter. The chickens provided them with eggs and an occasional meal when they butchered one. The sheep provided wool that Anne could weave on her spinning wheel to make yarn for clothes. Anders had planted wheat, corn, and a vegetable garden. Agnethe’s husband, Kristian, would have to learn to use Ander’s gun and hunt for deer and other wild animals for food. He had a lot to learn. He’d been a cobbler in Norway. He could make shoes, but knew nothing about farming and hunting. 

Another problem was getting supplies that couldn’t be grown on the farm. The closest general store was in Prairie du Chien, 50-60 miles south of Coon Prairie, situated along the Mississippi River. It was a long trip over rough country, with big hills and valleys, and numerous streams and waterways to cross. Roads were converted Indian trails and there were no bridges. The journey took several days for the early settlers. Many didn’t have access to a horse and buggy, or wagon. They walked to Prairie du Chien and back, carrying their supplies, like coffee, sugar, salt, syrup, flour, and other items on their backs. It would be several years before a store opened in La Crosse, cutting the trip in half.

That first winter was a tough one for Anne and her family. Her son, Peder, left in the fall with men from the area to walk to Black River Falls, where they worked as lumberjacks in the pineries during the winter months. Many men headed north in the winter to make money working in the woods. The women and children were left at home to take care of the farm and animals.

Life in the lumber camps was hard work with long hours, working in the freezing cold. They headed into the woods before sunrise and didn’t return until dark. Those were depressing days for immigrant families.

Lumber Camp: My grandfather, Oscar Hanson, 

Ole and Anna Hanson's son, seated front center

Back on Coon Prairie, the freezing weather arrived, along with snow and howling winds. Deep snowdrifts hindered their trips for water. They resorted to melting snow in a large kettle in the fireplace. They provided water for the cattle the same way. When the wind blew, snow came right through cracks between the logs where Anders hadn’t done a very good job of filling in the gaps. They were cold, miserable, and felt trapped and isolated, far from other humanity. It was a horrible, long winter. 

To add to their problems, the wolves were having problems finding food too. They resorted to raiding their chickenhouse and killed many chickens. They also lost sheep to the wolves. It seemed like things were going from bad to worse. They were even running out of firewood and Kristian had to cut up downed trees in the woods to get through the winter. Everyone was happy when spring finally arrived and they had survived their first winter in Wisconsin.

When Peder arrived home from the lumber camp, he and Kristian planted crops. They were able to replace the chickens and sheep that had been killed with money Peder had earned that winter.

Farming in the 1890's. This is Jonas Ostrem, my great grandfather. 

One day while Pedar and Kristian were working in the fields, a group of dark strangers approached the house. Anne had heard about the Indians who lived in the area, but had never seen one before. Anne told Agnethe to overturn the large cooking pot and hide Anna under it. People said that Indians and gypsies would try to steal their chickens and children. 

Agnethe kept the gun handy while Anne went outside to see what they wanted. She couldn’t understand their language and they couldn’t understand her Norwegian. Anne kept an eye on them as they left and headed in the direction of Bloomingdale. When she was sure they were safe, they lifted the pot off a bewildered and frightened Anna, who was now four years old. It was the first of many friendly encounters with Indians passing through the area. They learned over time not to fear them. 

Life that summer was hard as they struggled with the crops and animals. The water supply was a constant problem. Anne decided she needed to sell the farm and buy one closer to water. They would need more money to do that. Peder would need to work in the lumber camps each winter to make extra money.

Hans Olson also spent that winter back in the camp. While talking to Peder he learned that his father had been killed just before their family arrived at Coon Prairie. Peder learned that Hans had lost his wife on the voyage and still had no permanent place to go back to in the spring when the other men returned to their farms. He’d been working as a hired man for a family the past summer. Hans told Peder his young son was living with friends until he could get established and provide a home for him. 

Peder said his mother wanted to buy a farm near Bloomingdale. She’d been a weaver in Norway and felt she’d have a better chance to earn a living doing weaving closer to a thriving community. She didn’t know how to run a farm and Peder wanted to head west in the spring with other young, single men and seek his fortune. Her cobbler son-in-law didn’t know anything about farming, but he and his family would have to live with Anne until they could afford their own place. Plus, Anne was sick and tired of carrying water up those steep hills.  

Peder asked Hans if he would like to be his mother’s hired man when they returned in the spring. Hans had no other options at the moment, and no place to live, so he accepted the offer. Thus began an alliance between the two families to try and salvage something out of the horrible journey they found themselves on.

Anne found a piece of land near Bloomingdale. A creek ran through the property and would be a convenient water supply for them and the cattle. There was even a house and barn on the property. The owner was selling the property and heading west with Peder and the others to a place called Dakota, where there was an abundance of land for farming and no steep hills and valleys to deal with. 

Hans began working as a hired man for Anne and did all the farming. He built a small shack on the property to live in and ate his meals with Anne and her family. Ole, Hans’ son, continued to live with friends and helped them on their farm until he was confirmed at age 16. 

Hans worked hard, clearing the land to make more room for crops. Much of the land had steep hills, but he was able to grub out the flater areas. It was similar to what he was used to doing in Norway. He still headed north to the pineries in the winter months, while Anne and Agnethe took care of the cattle. 

The years passed, Ole was confirmed and came to live with his father. He was able to put in more crops with Ole helping him. Anne taught Agnethe how to weave and they were able to keep busy and make a living. Kristian left for La Crosse one day to get supplies and never returned. They knew he had been unhappy living in the wilderness and helping with the farming, but didn’t know if he had been killed or just kept going. 

Ole and Anna grew up together on the Korsveien farm. Their friendship blossomed into romance. In 1871 when Ole Hanson was 24 and Anna Goldseth was 19, they were married in the Coon Prairie Church. 

 Ole Hanson and Anna (Goldseth) Hanson,
my maternal great grandparents

By that time Hans and Ole had purchased a small farm in nearby Knapp Valley. They continued to farm together and buy more land until their farm extended up onto the ridge above the valley. The log house and an old log barn that Ole and Hans built in the valley still stands today. The land Ole and his father cleared and farmed during those early years from 1870 through the early 1900s was owned and farmed by descendants of Hans Olson Rustad and Anne Larsdatter Korsveien for many years.

Barn that Ole Hanson built in Knapp Valley. It still stands.

Hans Olson Rustad was my great-great-grandfather. Anne Larsdatter Korsveien was my great-great-great-grandmother. Ole Hanson and Anna Goldseth had a son, Oscar Hanson, who was my maternal grandfather. This is their story. Two pioneer immigrant families from Norway who had a rough beginning in America, but thanks to their perseverance and never giving up, they paved the way for their descendants and provided us a great path to follow. 

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Our Heritage Is Important

Across the Fence #495

As we approach Syttende Mai (Seventeenth of May), I think it’s a good time to take a look back at our heritage, where we are now, and where we’re headed. My perspective is from a Norwegian/Scandinavian heritage, but it applies to all nationalities and making sure we don’t forget our roots and heritage.

Years ago I presented a program for the local VASA meeting in Madison. VASA is to the Swedes what the Sons of Norway is to Norwegians. Or as a Norwegian friend said, “We have the Sons of Norway, the Swedes have the Sons of B… well you get the picture!”  My grandmothers must have been rolling in their graves knowing I was associating with a room full of Swedes!

The reason I was at a Swedish meeting is that my Swedish friend, Lowell, called one evening and asked if I would do a program on woodcarving and genealogy. I decided to start my presentation with a couple of stories about my grandmothers and their feelings toward Swedes. Remember, when they left Norway to come to America, Norway was still under the control of Sweden and there was much ill will between the two countries. Norway didn’t get their independence from Sweden until 1905.

I told how my great grandmother, Lene Wang (Vang), had warned my grandmother, Julia, about things to watch out for on the trip to America. One thing she said was, “Don’t go near the Swedes, because they all have lice!” I imagine every Swedish mother told their children to stay away from the Norwegians for the same reason.

Julia (Wang) Hanson

Another story concerned my cousin, Sandy, who had been more like an older sister to me. When she got engaged, she brought her fiancé, Lou, to the farm to meet my folks and Grandma Inga. After they had visited for a while in the house, my father took Lou outside to show him the barn. That gave Sandy a chance to ask Grandma Inga what she thought of Lou. Norwegian heritage was important to Grandma and she asked, “Is he Norwegian?” 

“No,” Sandy said, “He’s German.” 

Grandma thought for a few moments and then said, “Well, at least he’s not a Swede!”

Inga (Ostrem) Sherpe

Thank Heavens, everyone laughed when I told those stories. Then I told about Lowell’s son-in-law, Sven Olaf, who comes from Sweden.  When asked if they tell Norwegian jokes in Sweden too, he replied with a straight face, “Yes we do, but they’re not jokes!”

It’s a good thing we can now joke and laugh about what was once no laughing matter to our grandparents. I can better understand the feelings they had toward Swedes because I know the history of Norway and that it was ruled by Sweden at the time they left. 

When I speak to groups, I’m amazed at how little some people know about the history and ancestry of their roots. Even among people who belong to organizations such as Sons of Norway and VASA, where they are interested in their family heritage.

Another thing I notice is that the vast majority of members of these organizations are from the older generations. There are very few young people, meaning below the age of fifty. Does this mean the younger generations have no interest in their roots, in the history of their families? Or is it that they are just too busy trying to earn a living and make ends meet? I hope that’s it, and that someday they’ll want to know more about where they came from. It will give them an appreciation of who their ancestors were. I think we need a sense of history and roots to know where we want to go in the future. That’s why it’s important that we continue to celebrate Syttende Mai in this country. It gives us a sense of our roots and heritage!

I know this is true in my life. The study of Norwegian history, the folk arts, and woodcarving of my ancestors, has given me an appreciation of their art and a desire to carry on the folk arts of Norway. This has had a virtual life changing affect on me. I look to the future with an appreciation of the past. 

We may live in a technological world, but we can’t hold a candle to the artistic ability and creativity of our ancient ancestors. What they accomplished with the tools and materials available to them at the time is incredible. One need only look at those who built and decorated the Norwegian Stave Churches during the Middle Ages. Man, fire, and neglect has destroyed most of those churches. However, twenty-nine still stand in all their glory after 900 or more years, while buildings in this country fall or are destroyed after as little as a hundred years, and most, much sooner than that. 

We seem to have little appreciation for the character and history in old things. We live in an era of MTV, instant gratification, fast food, and a throw-away mentality. Is it any wonder we destroy the old in favor of the new.

My hope during this anniversary of Norwegian independence, is that we take time to reflect on our heritage and history. Regardless of who we are; 100% Norwegian, Norwegian by marriage, a Norwegian wanna-be, a German, or even a Swede, your roots are important!  I guess that’s why I stand in the present, with one foot in the past and one in the future.

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Mr. Sherpe Goes To Washington - Part 2

Across the Fence #494

You could spend a month is Washington D.C. and still not see and experience everything. We had three full days to see and explore Washington and we barely scratched the surface. We got to see most of the things we wanted to see, but we could have spent much more time at many places.

We were on our own the second day in Washington, and could visit whatever we wanted to see without being tied to an agenda. The tour bus dropped us off on the National Mall in the morning and we needed to be back at the same area no later than 4:00 in the afternoon. There were hundreds of buses coming and going, dropping people off and picking them up. It seemed like there were a million school kids on spring trips. I have the utmost respect for those of you who have chaperoned school bus trips in crowded cities. I know I’m much too old to handle that kind of stress. Some of the poor teachers and parents looked like deer caught in the headlights as they shepherded the students in and out of Smithsonian buildings and tried to keep track of everyone. It seemed like a majority of the kids were constantly texting on their cell phones. It’s a different world than the one I grew up in.

Great sculpture to examine - Girls busy texting.

During the day and a half that we were on our own, without a guided tour, Linda and I were able to visit many of the Smithsonian buildings, all located around the central mall. Among the places we explored were the American History Museum, the Native American History Museum, the Air and Space Museum, the Holocaust Museum, sculpture gardens, and numerous other sights. We never made it into the Natural History Museum because of the long lines outside. That’s another of the museums I’d like to have visited. There’s a lot of walking if you plan on visiting and seeing the sights, so be prepared. I think everyone was glad to sit down on the bus at 4:00 and rest.

One reason it takes longer for lines of people to get into buildings is because of all the increased security since 9-11. It’s like entering airport security, where everyone and every purse, bag, and backpack goes through a security check. Again, we live in a different world.

A few of the highlights for us included The First Lady’s gowns and china, and Dorothy’s red slippers for Linda, and the copy of the Declaration of Independence and military displays for me in the American History Museum. Because of my love of space history and the study of the cosmos, the Air and Space Museum was special. My interest in Native American history made that museum special also. The Holocaust Museum was a darker experience. There was very little talk or noise as we spent close to two hours trying to comprehend how this could have happened. When we got outside one of the men on our bus, who was also a veteran, just shook his head and said, “How could one man foster such cruelty to people and most of the nation followed his leadership?” I didn’t have an answer, but we both agreed that sometimes individuals need to take a stand and say “This isn’t right. I can’t go along with it,” even if it means you will probably become a victim too. My country right or wrong, doesn’t always apply.

Our visit to Arlington National Cemetery was both peaceful and sobering. Watching the changing of the guard at the Tomb of the Unknown Soldiers was something we’ll all remember. The precision of movement and respect shown by those soldiers is something to be proud of. We also went to the Arlington House on the top of the hill in Arlington Cemetery. This was the home of Confederate General Robert E. Lee. When he left in 1861 to lead Virginia’s armed forces, the Union eventually confiscated his property to use as a military cemetery. 16,000 Union soldiers are buried there. Since that time another 300,000 veterans have been laid to rest in Arlington. An average of 27 funerals are conducted each day. We also visited the Kennedy gravesites. If you visit Arlington, don’t forget to visit the Women In Military Service to America Memorial near the entrance.

During those days in Washington we saw and experienced many places that we’d only seen in photos before. The list is too long to list them. There’s something for everyone’s interest in Washington. If you like history it’s a great place to explore and learn. If you go when all the cherry trees are in bloom you’ll experience spectacular views. There’s also a lot of traffic gridlock so take a bus, sit back, enjoy the scenery, and leave the traffic stress to someone else.

One last thing, the closest we came to President Obama was one morning when his helicopter flew right over our bus while we were stuck in traffic. He was on his way to catch a plane and speak at Fort Hood. That’s one way to avoid the gridlock in the streets.

As a result of our visits to Gettysburg, Mount Vernon, and Washington D.C., I have a much better appreciation for the history of our country. A big thank you to Jag Tours for a great time and a memorable trip.

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