Ohio

Chillicothe

One place we stopped was Hopewell Culture National Historical Park in Chillicothe, Ohio. One of the many places in the Midwest where one can see mounds built by Native Americans, this park contains Mound City, a collection of 23 mounds surrounded by a long earthwork wall. These mounds and others were constructed by a mysterious collection of Native American peoples who lived about 2,000 years ago in an area stretching from the Great Lakes to the Gulf of Mexico and from the Atlantic Ocean to the Great Plains. Archeologists do not know what these people called themselves, but they refer to them as members of the Hopewell culture because an important excavation of their mounds was done on a farm owned by Captain Mordecai Hopewell in 1891. The Hopewellians apparently built their mounds for ritualistic purposes, sometimes burying craft items and even their cremated dead there. During our tour of the park, Essie discovered another use for the mounds. The first thing she did was to scale one that was about 10 feet high and then come down it, first walking and then running.

Cincinnati

For the first time in years, I traveled alone. Lisa and Essie stayed in Fort Wayne, Indiana, where they will attend a 50th wedding anniversary celebration for Lisa's parents on August 20. Because my semester begins August 18, I left early and decided to stop at a few interesting places on my way home to Laurinburg, North Carolina. I planned to stop first in Cincinnati, where I could see a Reds game, eat at Pete Rose's restaurant, and perhaps visit the Harriet Beecher Stowe house.

The surprises began when I entered Ohio and saw the time on a bank sign. I had left Fort Wayne in time to make the game or perhaps be a little late, but I had forgotten that Ohio is an hour ahead of Indiana. Scratch the Reds game. I was only partially disappointed, though, because I knew I now would have more time to do other things. I started with the Harriet Beecher Stowe house, which quickly became surprise number two. Because the sign in the front window erroneously read "CLOSED," I went to the back door, where I was scolded by the attendant for coming in the wrong door. She told m that I couldn't go upstairs and then ignored me for the rest of my visit, which was brief. More a repository for information about African-American history--including a handout on the Tuskegee Airmen--than a Stowe museum, the house was a disappointment, but I did snap a picture of it and noted that Harriet lived there with her family before she married Calvin Stowe. I look forward to sharing the picture with my students when I teach Uncle Tom's Cabin in my American novel class this fall. The next surprise was a pleasant one. I stopped at the William Howard Taft National Historic Site so that I could collect another stamp for my National Parks Passport. I got the stamp, but I also got a delightful, fascinating personal tour from an outstanding park ranger. As someone who loves American history, but is only mildly interested in the presidents, I harbored no special fascination with Taft--for me, a second- or third-tier president akin to Polk or Harding. Seeing the house where "Willie" grew up, listening to the ranger describe his life, and seeing the exhibits upstairs, however, brought the subject to life. I learned about Taft's political family--his father was an ambassador, and the Tafts, like the modern Kennedys, even had a compound in the Northeast--his upbringing, his political life, and his term in the United States Supreme Court. While we were in the house's tiny but beautiful library, the ranger explained that Willie's parents--unlike their Victorian contemporaries--treated their children as they would adults, involving them in grown-up discussions. Perhaps the most interesting detail I learned was that Taft was more an academic than a politician. He was reluctant to become heavily involved in politics and actually saw his appointment to the Supreme Court as the pinnacle of his professional life. After leaving the Taft home, I headed to downtown Cincinnati, but was a little disappointed by the self-guided walking tour I took. Aside from several buildings in the "Commercial style"--Is this how I should start referring to the architecture of the mall down the street from my parents' house?--Cincinnati's downtown does not seem to have much to offer the history buff. It is, however, pleasant and interesting in the present. In my efforts to find a AAA office, I wandered into the gigantic office building of Proctor and Gamble, one of the country's largest companies. I also walked a mile or so in the Skywalk--a clever and convenient means for avoiding traffic and poor weather. Even my trip to AAA was noteworthy. The office is large, immaculate, even attractive--an antique Ford from the early part of the century sits on display in the lobby--and the people were extraordinarily helpful. Here was the site of yet another surprisete Rose doesn't have a restaurant in Cincinnati. The closest I came to soaking up some of his legend was hearing him plug a financial services business on an AM radio station.

The final surprise in Cincinnati was the most pleasant of all. In planning my trip, I had hoped to spend some time by the Ohio River, but I could not find a bike trail that ran alongside it. After my walking tour downtown, however, I drove over a bridge to Covington, Kentucky, and discovered a wonderful riverwalk. On a cool, clear, and altogether glorious summer evening, I went for an exhilarating 4-mile-jog along the Kentucky side of the river, over an 1860s suspension bridge that James Roebbling designed before he designed the Brooklyn Bridge, along Cincinnati's riverwalk, and back over the bridge to Kentucky. Along the way, I enjoyed views of the gardens in Cincinnati's Sawyer Point park, several statues of figures such as the Roman soldier-farmer Cincinnatus, and a huge riverboat called the Mississippi Queen, which was steaming down the Ohio as I ran over the Roebbling Bridge.