Judy Butler's Travel Blog

Judy Butler 1944-2010

2010-08-09T16:06:00.001-07:00

I am writing you today to let you all know that Judy passed away in her sleep on August 7th at her home. Judy's Celebration will be Saturday August 21st at 10am at Mount Olivet Funeral Home in Nashville. Please come and bring your best memories of Judy as we celebrate her life together. There are 2 scholarships set up in her name and Judy Wanted you to donate to them instead of sending flowers.

the info on the scholarships can be found here in her website:

http://www.judybutler.com

Judy's Health

2010-08-05T13:28:00.001-07:00

As many of you know, Judy is in the final stages of living with Ovarian cancer which has been very aggressive and unaffected by chemotherapy. She is resting in her home on a pain drip and oxygen. She is very weak and sleeps most of the time. She occasionally asks for water and wakes when she hears someone come into her room. Hospice has been here and helps her out tremendously.
We have enjoyed being able to spend this time with her as she prepares to explore the Universe on her next adventure.

I will post here on her blog when she passes away and let you all know when her memorial service is. Thanks for following her blog. I will leave it online for your enjoyment. Feel free to use any of the information and images here for any reference you may need. She would love to know that her artwork and words live on through this medium and are able to reach so many of you, whoever you are. Thank you all.

Much Love,

Kelly
-Judy's Daughter

Staycation in Nashville Jan 2010: Opryland Hotel Gardens

2010-01-03T05:52:00.000-08:00

Judy Butler Drawing in Journal Pointsetta watercolor and felt pens 2009

People come from all over the states and the world to visit Nashville and all of its treasures. One of those great destinations is the Opryland Hotel gardens. It is 14 degrees in our back yard in suburbia Nashville only 6 miles from the hotel. We took our Grandson last week to visit the hotel to see the spectacular Christmas Decorations.

You can Valet Park at any of the lobbies, eat in one of the Restaurants that will validate your parking ticket. (Saves you $20.00 for three hours). This gets you Palm trees and coconuts like you were at the beach. Now that is a Staycation worth its weight in gold... Staycation worth its weight in gold.

How about Palm Trees in Nashville in January?

Following are some of the photos from our Christmas visit.

Flowers of the Opryland Hotel Gardens:

I had so much fun at the Opryland Hotel with my family last week that two of my friends and I went back yesterday to enjoy the gardens and shops.

I belong to an Internet Blogging group called "Cactus Monday." We post something about cactus every Monday. We all draw cactus, take photos of cactus, or do fun activities with cactus. I have a little Cactus plastic figure that I keep in my purse and take his photos in interesting places. Here is my post from my Art blog about Cactus Monday enjoying his time at the hotel.

Cactus Mundi went with us and had a great time. He hung out with Elvis...jumped right up in his Blue Suede Shoes, giggled about the Elvis Christmas stockings, had then warmed up next to the big fireplace in the lobby.

Cactus Mundi warmed up in front of the big fireplace in the lobby.

For more Cactus Monday fun visit Teri's blog
http://painteddaisies.blogspot.com/

Judy in her scooter, left Joan and right Toni

The camellias started to bloom since I was there last week. Just amazing in the gardens.

2003 Trip to Memphis with Toni: Visiting the Memphis Zoo

2010-01-02T17:28:00.000-08:00

Judy Butler drawing of the panda with pastels, 2003

My only photo of the panda at the Memphis Zoo. One glimpse then he got up and wondered out of view. Dang.

In 2003 Toni and I visited the Memphis Zoo. The Panda exhibit is the centerpiece of the Zoo's exhibits. In the gift shop Toni bought this cute little hat. Several years later our friend Joan brought me back a similar hat from Hong Kong. We love our hats.

Toni and I have literally traveled around the world together. She is my good buddy for being up for most anything in the adventure travel area. Here are some other photos of the Zoo.

Is this cute or what? The only panda in a carousel I have ever seen.

Beautiful wisteria vine. It was growing in several places around the park.
The Zoo is one of my favorites that I have visited over the years.

I highly recommend it as a geat destination.

Elizabethton and Sycamore Shoals Vacation 2002

2009-12-29T23:57:00.001-08:00

We celebrated our wedding day in an East Tennessee State Park. Fitting I would say for two people who have spend so much time in the out-of-doors. How Sweet It Is! We lived in Knoxville at the foot of the Smokies for several years before finding our way to Nashville as our permanent home.

We love going back to the hills and mountains where we fell in love. On one of those visits in 2002 we toured Sycamore Shoals State Historic State Park. This lovely spot along the Watauga River played an important role in the development of America and the concept of the majority-rule system of our democratic government. In 1772 this spot was the first permanent American settlement outside the original 13 colonies. It became the center of frontier life during this important period in the foundation of our country. It just gives us goosebumps to visit historic parks and relish in collective past.

A page from my art and travel journal.
Watercolor drawings of things seen along the trip.

There is a small museum in the Sycamore Shoals State Historic State Park where they had patterns for sale for basket weave stars. I bought the pattern with high expectations for making these stars for Christmas presents. So often I dream about these big kinds of time consuming projects that stay in my dreams and never materialize. In my 30's and 40's I did a lot of basket weaving and still enjoy it when my hands and arthritis cooperate. But miracle of miracle, I actually made about 10 of these. They are beautiful and the two I kept have been hanging in my kitchen all this time since 2002.

At the top of the photo is one of my handwoven baskets in the Amish style done about 25 years ago and hanging below it are two of the Stars woven at Christmas 2002.

This photos is a silhouette of the stars shot through the glass doors against the light of the yard.

Below is a Historical reenacting and living history that is a highlight at many state and Federal parks. Here a volunteer showing a gun of the time period and...

another authentic weapon of the time period.

Flowers of Land Between the Lakes

2009-12-29T17:37:00.000-08:00

We love staying in our beautiful Tennessee State Parks and Paris Landing is one of our favorites. They have lovely chalet-type cabins with all the amenities of much more expensive accommodations. Every state park has one cabin that is dog-friendly since we travel with our daughter, her husband, their baby, and their big black lab, Random. The cabins are large and perfect for our family.

Not far from the park is the natural area of Land Between the Lakes. Wildflowers grow abundantly in this large natural area between the Cumberland and Tennessee Rivers.

Indian Pink, Spigelia marilandica Loganiaceae, also called Pinkroot.

A perennial that grows about two feet tall with flowers about one inch long.

Grows on mountain slopes and thickets. But these photos were taken at the Woodland Nature Station in a cultivated flower bed. The Nature Station features native plants and animals of Land Between the Lakes. May 15, 2007

Field Buttercups grow along the roadside and edges of the pastures of the Cross Creek Refuge. Imported from Europe they are invasive especially for farmers. Ranunculaceae, the Buttercup Family. May 2008

Woodland Nature Center at Land Between the Lakes, Tennessee

2009-12-29T00:58:00.000-08:00

We went on vacation to Paris Landing State Park for a long four day weekend. As part of our travels in the strip of land between the Tennessee River and the Cumberland River in East Tennessee we discovered wonderful natural areas and special places for preservation.

The Woodland Nature Center at Land Between the Lakes is home to owls that cannot be released. They are great photo subjects because they can't fly away. But it is very sad that they are tethered to their stand. They are beautiful but seem sad.

Screech Owl

Below Owls are fun to draw with their large eyes, colorful feathers, and quizzical expressions. Medium: cake watercolor and ink pensJudy Watercolor

Photo Above Barred Owl

Great Horned Owl--Above Judy Watercolor and Below Photo Land Between the Lakes

The park provides a great service taking care of these injured animals but it is really sad to see their limited mobility. It is special to be able to get really close to these wild animals. I enjoyed taking pictures of the details of feathers. Resource photos for artists is an important way to observe the structural details for your drawings of animals you would otherwise not be able to see so close.

Pelicans in Bucktown: After Katrina: December 2004

2009-12-29T00:52:00.000-08:00

Judy's Journal Entry December 14, 2004

Pelicans and People Loved to Eat Seafood in Famous Bucktown ...

Until Katrina

Bucktown is an outlying area of New Orleans that has been famous all my life for seafood restaurants. The rustic buildings were made of weathered boards perched on stilts lining the 17th Street Canal and Lake Pontchartrain. While visiting family on December 14, 2004 my husband and I had lunch at Fitsgeralds. I have always loved the white toast under the tender fried shrimp and crisp soft-shelled crabs. We topped off the meal with wonderful bread pudding dribbled with a creamy sauce. As we looked out the window over the lake small white caped waves lapped up against the pilings. I would take a few bites of the scrumptious food and snap pictures out the large glass windows that encircled the tables. We watched the Pelicans sunning and preening their wings. I don’t know which I enjoyed more the great New Orleans food or being so close to the pelicans as they danced and posed for us. One member of the clan would be startled away then return and change positions with another of the flock.
Fitsgeralds Restaurant In Bucktown in New Orleans-- December 2004

Before Katrina

On my last visit in January 2008 most of these wonderful eateries had been blown away in Katrina on August 29, 2005. My heart was broken. The images from childhood zoomed across my memory. Flashbacks of eating plates piled high with fried seafood on a Friday night followed by dancing with my uncle with my five-year-old stocking feet propped on top of his shinny black shoes. The whole family would come from all over the city to Bucktown to kick off the weekend. What great memories..family, music, food, and joy.

Fitsgeralds Restaurant In Bucktown in New Orleans-- December 2004
After Katrina
(From website: http://www.spencerllc.net/spencer/html/Katrina/katrinahome.html)

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How sad, sad. Katrina came and all these wonderful places are gone.
The pilings are lonely.
No hustle and bustle of people or pelicans.
No dancing.

Oakley House where Audubon crafted many of his bird drawings

2009-12-29T00:44:00.000-08:00

Below medium: Watercolor pencils and ink pens

Above is Judy' Journal entry from December 16, 2004 with a sketch of the beautiful white peacock at Oakley House where Audubon crafted many of his bird drawings.

Above a journal with Audubon sketches.

I assume it is a replica since it is just sitting out without any protection from the elements.

In the summer of 1821 John James Audubon moved to the Oakley Plantation located in Feliciana Parish Louisiana. He combined teaching drawing to Eliza Pirrie, the young daughter of the owners of the house with working on his massive collection of drawings called the Birds of America. The Plantation is now part of the Audubon State Historic Site between Jackson and St. Francisville. (Above is a closeup photo of a journal resting on Audubon's desk in the exhibit in his bedroom/studio at Oalkey Plantation.) We had the good fortune of stumbling into this beautiful historic site in December of 2004. We just happened to see a small sign on the highway on the way to our winter vacation. What an unexpected treat to see the room where Audubon completed many of his drawings of birds and local flowers. The museum placed samples of his journals through out the small studio and bedroom combination. It is astounding what beautiful detail and quality he achieved with paint, brushes, and paper in what was a remote setting in the early part of the 19th century. I think of how I go to the local art store and buy the latest gadget and imported brushes for my watercolor drawings and imagine how he gathered his supplies and carried them by boat and then on horseback to the rural area of southern Louisiana.

How fitting that the most glorious bird greeted us on the sidewalk as we approached Audubon’s living quarters. It was a beautiful and mysterious looking white peacock. I am afraid my photo and simple drawing does not do it justice. It is interesting that if you put in “white peacock” 1n Goggle you get several sites with this same white bird. One is a black and white photo by Julie Mihaly that makes the bird look very enchanting: http://www.juliemihaly.com/photographs1.html.
I have several versions of Birds of America on my bookshelf—all of modest quality. But I have always enjoyed browsing through them and marveling at his detail and interesting perspectives. I grimace when I think about the way he wired his specimens into these unusual poses and only imagine keeping them around the plantation for several days in the south Louisiana humid hot summer days. Oh, lets not even think about that. Just appreciate the art and importance of his botanical record.

North to Alaska: Judy and Lewis Trip more than 12 years ago

2009-12-25T06:00:00.000-08:00

This is a reprint of Lewis Butler's memories of our trip to Alaska with our daughter Kelly.

Many of his other wonderful stories from time growing up in Carthage, Tennessee and of our great travels together are on his blog: http://lewisbutler.blogspot.com/

We had an inkling that we were onto something different when we passed over the mountains in southeastern Alaska at midnight at 41,000 feet. It was nine o'clock in Nashville, and on any other usual evening we would be contemplating a night's repose. But here we were at nine p.m. in Alaska, midnight in Nashville, an almost-set sun lit the snow covered mountains. We weren't the least bit sleepy. "Wide eyed" would be a more appropriate description.

We picked up our rental car not far from the Anchorage airport and attempted to navigate Anchorage in the lingering twilight. The sun had just gone below the horizon but as it turned out not very far below. It never did get fully dark during our nine days there.

We arrived at our bed and breakfast late because of a wrong turn that took us twenty miles in the wrong direction. I wasn't satisfied with doing it wrong once so we retraced our incorrect route a second time before encountering semi-intelligent life where we got our bearings.

Our room was on the third floor of a private home. The rooms were great and we slept with the windows wide open. We noticed later that none of the dwellings had screens. Since we had heard of monster mosquitoes in Alaska we wondered where the screens were. We were never bothered by mosquitoes during our vacation.

We used this Anchorage B & B as our "home base," and it proved to be a great decision. The family who ran the B & B were the Eidems, Mary and Jerry: both are retired teachers. Mary is a potter and Jerry is a commercial and charter fisherman during the summer and a heavy equipment operator during the cold months. Mary served salmon quiche and various muffins for breakfast. Jerry oriented us to Alaska and to the Keni Peninsula, that he called, “Alaska's essence.”

We "did" Anchorage the first day to get oriented to the state and to get used to the time difference. A few years ago Alaska and especially Anchorage was choked under a five-inch blanket of fine volcanic ash. The ash was still evident along roadways and in gravel parking lots. We went to the Alaska State Museum and were astounded at the exhibits and art work. We did a few other tourist things, and in the meantime we discovered Ship Creek on the northern edge of town near the harbor.

People were fishing this little creek and soon we spotted what they were after: Salmon were moving upstream; Big salmon; hundreds and hundreds and more kept coming! It was easy to spot the Sockeye. They had turned bright red except for their heads. The pinks and chum were harder to spot because their colors had not changed. The Sockeye were about fifteen pounds and the others were about six pounds each.

Judy got on the phone to try to get reservations on the ferry to Valdez, but she was unsuccessful. A change of plans was in order. Jerry Eidem, being a fisherman contacted a buddy of his in Homer for a charter trip two days hence. We were to stay at his "camp" the night before our big fishing trip. So it was off to Homer after two nights in Anchorage.

It's difficult to miss your road out of Anchorage: There is one going North and one going South! We went south. Leaving Anchorage toward Seward and Portage a mountain range marches along your left side. It has Tanaina Peak, O'Malley Peak, Flattop Mtn., and Suicide Peak. Then along the Turnagain Arm of Cook Inlet a mountain range appears topped with snow fields and lingering clouds. We were awestruck by their beauty and we used lots of film on these “Porcupine Mountains.”

Tidal fluctuations in Alaskan waters are extreme: twelve to sixteen feet, twice per day. On The Turnagain Arm there are warnings to stay off the tidal sands because some are treacherous quicksand. We were also warned that Cook Inlet is also subject to "Bore Tides": A raging flood tide, a wall of water up to six feet high moving upstream at 40 miles per hour. It’s a fact that sometimes the tide comes in so fast that some hearty folks surf on it!

We went through Tunnel, Snoring Inn and had lunch at a most beautiful spot, Moose Pass. We found a small motel with a restaurant that was superb! We stopped there coming and going.

Turning west at Moose Pass and wending our way through the mountains of the Keni Peninsula through mountain valleys we spotted fast flowing, cold mountain rivers, migrating salmon and FISHERMEN! There were people fishing in tiny rivulets and in mighty rivers. There were people fishing in jet powered boats, oar powered boats and in canoes and kayaks. Most of all there were people fishing in boots standing in the streams attempting to attract salmon. It is called "Alaskan Combat Fishing!"

There are strict limits on how one may catch salmon and how many one may catch. The salmon are not that easy to catch because they have other priorities at this time of year like spawning! There are enough caught however to make the effort worthwhile.

You must like salmon or learn to like salmon if you are to live in Alaska. In downtown Anchorage the offshore netters were giving salmon away rather than sell it at a cheap price to the wholesalers and processors. We heard that one day's give away totaled fifteen thousand pounds. It's hard to pay for a fifty thousand-dollar fishing boat doing that.

We turned south along Cook Inlet and arrived at Homer: "The End Of The World." Alaska has the distinction of having two most famous locations: The Middle of Nowhere and The End of The World. Any number of interior locations could be the Middle of Nowhere, but Homer, Alaska is absolutely the End of The World.

We arrived at our fishing "camp" to find our "crew" busy filleting the day's catch of Halibut. One of the fish weighed one hundred and eighty pounds. The others were just small fish in the forty to sixty pound range. Well, that was the good news: The bad news was that we were to stay in a tiny trailer, a mini-RV, with no water available. The other bad news was that the "crew" would be cooking the crabs caught that day on the stove in our RV. Oh well, we thought it would all be worth it if we were going to catch fish the following day and have Dungenous Crab for supper. We slept fitfully but were ready to go at first light.

We headed out into Cook Inlet about twenty miles to a drop off where the bottom was about one hundred and twenty feet down. The fishing rig was a heavy deep sea rod and reel with three pounds of lead for a sinker. We later found out that a three pound sinker was not enough. When the tide changed it was so fast the bait would not stay on the bottom! The boat swung around on its anchor rope and we were riding a twenty knot tide!

It was a great day: The sun was out and the wind was dead calm. We were in the Gulf of Alaska and Mt. St Augustine was twenty miles off the stern, glowing pink some miles away in the sunrise.

The fishing method was to find the bottom and bounce the herring bait off it. We got bites that swiped our herring, but finally Judy and Kelly each hooked a fish. It was an ordeal reeling up the lead and the darting Halibut, but they each landed their fish. Each weighed about twenty pounds and was rejected by the boat captain as too small. Judy and Kelly hated to see those fish go back in the water, but they continued to fish.

My first fish was a Ling Cod weighing about ten pounds. I had made cod for supper about a month before and the smell lingered in the house for days. We kept this one for bait. Kelly and Judy each caught more fish that were returned to grow up. They were frustrated, to say the least. Then finally we began catching "keepers." It seemed that any fish less than thirty pounds were too small. The crew told us that the object of the day was to catch sufficient fish so that the tourists arms grew so tired that they could no longer comb their hair or scratch: Well, that was us all right!

We kept sixteen fish that averaged forty to fifty pounds each. We caught a great deal of Halibut, but we only brought home to Nashville the filets of six fish. The filets weighed fifty-seven pounds. In all, we caught over five-hundred pounds of Halibut, three large Cod and one huge Stingray. A three-hundred and twenty-five pounder was caught that day by another boat.

Halibut is a flatfish without scales somewhat like a Flounder. Its skin is tough and smooth. Halibut is white on one side and brown on the other. Like a Flounder they start with eyes on each side of their head, but as they lie on the bottom the left side turns white and the eye migrates to the brown, right side. Halibut and Flounder are always white on the same side: the left side.

We could hear Russian fishermen talking on the boat’s radio during our ride back to Homer. We saw Puffins and many other sea birds. Sea Otters drifted on the surface cracking urchins on their bellies and the biggest surprise of all was that a Minike Whale surfaced right beside our boat. He was looking Kelly right in the eye for a split second! What a thrill! What luck?

We had our Halibut processed at dockside and it was flown to the Anchorage airport the day we departed. I worried that our expensive filets would thaw during the flights and layovers in Seattle and Detroit. We worried for nothing: the two-pound hunks were as hard as frozen bricks all the way home.

We declined a second night in the "camp" and climbed a ridge above Homer to a fantastic B & B called appropriately, "Ridgetop B & B." This was our second B & B and like the first we were greeted by a note on the door inviting us to go in and set up since no one was at home.

This place was spectacular! A balcony facing south allowed us to view fields of the last of the summer's Fireweed blossoms along with tall pine spires and the mountains, glaciers and snow fields across Kachemak Bay. Many years ago a glacier pushed a "spit" down Kachemak Bay that became land's end. The Homer Spit is approximately a mile long housing "Spit Rats" camping in one and two-man tents, RV Parks, night clubs, a large marina and port. From our vantage point the spit appeared to be just a spit of rock jutting out into the bay. We were so far away that nothing manmade was visible.

At six p.m. the bright sun was at two o'clock, and the only sounds were the screeches of hawks looking for a rodent meal in the Fireweed and the tall Yarrow. It was a pleasant afternoon of rest in the sun with the world's most wonderful view.

The sunlight there in early August is diffused and pale and reminds you of a sunny winter day in Tennessee. We had four straight days of sunshine, and we learned that on those days Anchorage had set new high temperatures at seventy-four degrees. Cloudy skies are the norm for most Alaskan days because of the clash of the Japanese Current and the Arctic winds.

Clouds made their expected appearance on our drive back to Anchorage. Seeing the mountains from the opposite direction made our spirits soar again: We had missed the grandeur of the snow spotted mountains.

We headed for The Portage Glacier: whatever that was! The clouds scuffed the tops of the six-thousand foot mountains where we turned onto the Portage Access road. We were "all eyes" because of the color of the ice cold rivers, and because not far along the way we spotted our first glacier. Great hunks of blue ice hung on the cloud shrouded mountains. A torrent of murky blue water cascaded down the mountain side. The glaciers grind the rock to a fine powder known as rock flour. All the rivers and streams had varying quantities of rock flour.

We cleared a small rise and before us were icebergs floating on a lake! We parked and promptly donned warm clothing: The air coming down the valley was right off the Portage Glacier, and the icebergs kept the area very cold.

We were struck by the quiet of the area since it was covered in travelers. Like us, they were probably awe struck by the scene. Low clouds obscured the tops of the nearby mountains; the glaciers of blue ice hung in the mountain valleys; the rivulets of glacial melt cascaded down; the ice bergs lolled and tumbled in the lake: and the river was grey-blue made up of thousand-year-old melting ice and ground rock. Like so much of what we had seen in Alaska, this area was unique and spectacular.

We returned to Anchorage to "home base" and rested from our Keni adventure. The next day we took the other road out of Anchorage, North to Healy and Mt. McKinley. We found our B & B in Healy and were greeted with another note welcoming and inviting us in.

Our hostess in Anchorage being a potter, had asked Judy if we would bring some Healy clay. Our Healy hostess supplied a pail and shovel and we were off to the Healy "outback!" We took the road to the Healy landfill. We soon ran out of paved road and passed by a coal processing plant that supplied power to the consumers in Healy.

We could see the clay deposits from the track and we soon spotted a pristine deposit. We put the Jeep into all wheel drive and proceeded through the soft sand over to the clay deposits. The five gallon pail was soon full, and we started exploring the area.

The surface was a conglomeration of rock debris pushed around and ground down by glaciers. The rock flour had long since blown away in the constant winds. What was left was sand and stone of various colors, chunks of marble and granite and other types of rock. We also saw recent evidence of moose in the area; moose-poop. (We later saw moose-poop jewelry and even moose-poop for chapped lips: "It doesn't cure the chapped lips it just keeps you from licking them!")

The next day we had an early ticket for an eight hour bus ride in and out of Denali Park. I had envisioned comfortable tour busses with good seats and large windows for viewing Mt. McKinley. What showed up was a school bus from the Anchorage school system with small windows and with hard-hard bench seats. As it turned out we got no closer than 35 miles to Mt. McKinley. Fortunately, the clouds surrounding the summit parted for about three seconds, and it shown majestically in the sunlight for just long enough to snap one picture.

The track (no-way this could be called a road) was narrow and wound between hills and valleys until it reached the Polychrome Mountains. There it became a very narrow trail four hundred feet up on the side of a precarious incline. It was hard to grip that hard plastic seat with your butt, but Judy did it! The trip was interesting, in that, we saw moose, wolves, ptarmigan, and marmot (Alaskan groundhog).

We transferred to a returning bus after three hours and drove back to Anchorage so that we would have ample time to prepare for our departure and to let Judy attend a training session at the University of Alaska at Anchorage. Kelly and I completed our trinket purchases, and we all looked forward to getting through the "red-eye flight" back to Nashville.

We left at one-forty AM and arrived in Seattle at sunup. We were on the ground about an hour. We took the opportunity to spread out and attempt to nod-off. I was amazed at the number of avid Salmon fishermen getting on the plane to Seattle: They had heard that fishing was better in Washington!

Then it was six hours to Detroit. Neither of us had had any sleep in the preceding 24 hours. We were grounded in Detroit for three hours, and Kelly finally got some sleep. We arrived in Nashville at six PM: walking was a challenge. It is difficult to work out the time changes, but it seems that we lost a whole day somewhere.

It was a great trip: A once in a lifetime trip. There were many other great things we experienced just by pure luck. Judy did all her Christmas shopping at our "home base," and we got some of the most spectacular pictures you can imagine.

I guess the best part of the trip will be our memories of the clear cold ocean water, the temperatures in the sixties and seventies while over one hundred back home, the "Combat Fishing" while fifteen thousand pounds of salmon are given away in the middle of Anchorage every other day. But most of all we were enthralled by the ever-present mountains, rugged, foreboding and cold.

ADVENTURES IN HITCH-HIKING

2009-12-25T05:39:00.000-08:00

This is a reprint of Lewis Butler's memories of his main transportation to and from college from home in the mid-fifties. Many of his other wonderful stories from time growing up in Carthage, Tennessee are on his blog: http://lewisbutler.blogspot.com/

Seeing people on the side of the road hitchin' a ride was a common occurrence during the middle of the century. In fact there were persons whose only means of transportation from one place to another was by thummin'. One such was a local character in Carthage named Booger McCormick.

There were many Booger Stories during my growing up years. One of which was that once upon a time Leon Petross, a long haul truck driver spotted Booger on the square in Carthage. Leon was heading for New York City with a load of live cattle. Leon made his regular rest stops, but also made good time. As he came out of the Lincoln Tunnel and made a right onto 19th in downtown Manhattan he spotted Booger! "....standin' there as big as life with tobacco juice running down his chin." Leon told that for the truth!

I began hitchin' at age four by riding with the postman to Gordonsville to spend the weekend with my grandparents. Dad would put me in the middle of the postman's truck, and Mr. and Mrs. Boston and I would go to Gordonsville, six miles south of Carthage. I would be delivered right to the front door of the home of Dr. W.B. Dalton, my Grandfather. I was one of those kids who could entertain my grand parents by word and deed. (In school I was known as a "Class Clown," since then I have evolved into a 'situational humorist.')

During the fifties there were no interstate highways: The primary east - west highway was US-70 which ran from Winston Salem, NC to Los Angeles, CA and ran by the end of the Carthage Bridge. During my teen years we hitch-hiked from Nashville to Carthage after working all week for the state highway department. Of course I hitched from college to Carthage almost every weekend. That's where I had most of my "Adventures in Hitch-Hiking".

Between Cookeville and Carthage there were two major turn-offs, one to Gainesboro at Double Springs and one a little further down the road, to Baxter. I found out the hard way, never to take a ride that turned off at either of these two junctions. The two times I did I thumbed for two hours without getting a ride.

It was usually pretty easy getting a ride out of Cookeville to Carthage. I had T.P.I. decals all over my Samsonite suitcase and a big grin all over my face with my thumb up. But a fellow had to be careful about his money, because the fifteen dollars allotted to meals and entertainment during the week had to yield seventy-five cents for cab-fare to "The Triangle" to hitch a ride on Saturday morning. (No tip, Sorry)

Most of the time the rides to the end of the Carthage Bridge were uneventful. But one time I was picked up by a former female school-mate with whom I'd gotten very "fresh" on the band bus. She had a girlfriend with her and she remembered our encounter and discussed it for the benefit of the other traveler, but she kept calling me Sonny Apple. I never got the opportunity to tell her that it was not the "Sonny" she was talking to/about.

One delightfully warm spring day I was standing in the sunshine at the Triangle with a big grin when a 1955, War Bonnet Yellow, Chevy Convertible pulled up. I thought, 'Man, this has got to be the greatest!' I attempted to swing my Samsonite into the back seat since the top was down, but there was some guy lying all over the seat and floorboard. I got in the front with my bag between my knees, and we took off. In about ten seconds I realized that I was in the company of a drunk driver and a very drunk, back-seat passenger!

The guy in the back "woofed his cookies" over the side on a regular basis, and the driver was doing his best to stay in the designated lane. My gracious offers to drive were ignored! We made it to the Carthage bridge without mishap, but I'll never know how. It was a white-knuckle trip.

highway 70-North between Cookeville and Carthage follows the tops of several ridge-lines. Now-a-days not a lot of people actually know what that means. Some think they have been on "curvy roads," but highway 70 N is not just another curvy road. It is so crooked that one is challenged to the extreme. These curves lend themselves to recklessness and showmanship!

Three of us were hitchin' one day when a Cadillac Eldorado stopped. We got in the back seat. There were two guys in the front who never acknowledged our existence. The driver wore a big diamond ring and had the stub of a cigar in his fingers. The front seat passenger had longish hair and was engrossed in the one-sided, front-seat conversation.

I knew we were in trouble when the speedometer registered 70 mph on the first flat stretch outside Cookeville. We took almost every curve in a "broadside-slide", known as a power-slide, until we got to Chestnut Mound.

That trip was when I learned the definition of holding a tight "pucker string"! I held one for at least half an hour. In fact I was preoccupied with perfecting a gripping ability in my butt muscles. We survived the trip without ever having been spoken to by the driver or his companion.

Once I rode with a poor down-&-out guy in a '47 Chevy. That hunk of rolling junk was using oil faster than gasoline. He stopped at every auto repair place on the highway to beg for a quart or two of burnt oil: oil that was left over from oil changes.

I had managed to hang onto two dollars from my weeks allowance by skipping supper on Thursday. My host asked if I had any money "cause he sure did need a beer". I kept quiet and used all my mental powers to urge that old clunker to keep on chugging. We arrived at the end of the bridge, and I gratefully exited. For once I looked forward to the long walk across the Carthage bridge, burdened with my weeks laundry but with my two dollars intact.

These days we hardly ever see folks on the road 'thummin-a-ride.' The last one I saw was in Homer Alaska. The guy had a rumpled beard, rumpled clothes and a rumpled sign asking for a ride to "ANYWHERE!"

SOUTH OF THE BORDER: 1954 Lewis Traveled to Monterey Mexico

2009-12-25T05:31:00.000-08:00

This is a reprint of Lewis Butler's fond memories of his trip to Monterey Mexico in 1954.

Many of his other wonderful stories from childhood are on his blog: http://lewisbutler.blogspot.com/

In 1954 the traveling Butlers struck out for the west. The Butler’s never needed an excuse to travel, but Buddy and wife, Pat were stationed at Fort Sam Houston in San Antonio, Texas. That served as reason-enough and the summer of ‘54 seemed a good time to go west and south of the border into Mexico.

These were the days before interstate highways, and the main road west was US Highway 70 which ran past Carthage along the river bluff. It was just a matter of crossing the Cumberland River and we were on our way.

We arose at four in the morning, gulped down a cup of instant coffee and commenced our southwest adventure. We stopped briefly for bathroom breaks, but meals that mom had prepared, fried chicken, biscuits, apples, and bananas were consumed on the go.

I was fourteen and did not yet have the overpowering urge to drive, and dad would not ride while Anna drove. So, we “made time” with dad at the wheel.

Highway 70 was a two lane paved road that sometimes had a shoulder but more often did not. Being a main thoroughfare there was always oncoming traffic. Granted, it wasn’t traffic like we see today with huge rigs speeding coast to coast, but the driver had to be ever alert. We drove and drove for fourteen hours in our fifty-one Chevy until darkness fell and dad’s fingers refused to bend. We found ourselves in Texarkana, Texas looking for a tourist court.

In 1954, motels had not been invented. Howard Johnson and Holiday Inns came on the scene somewhat later, but back then travelers stayed in tourist courts that usually consisted of an office with several small bungalows. They usually had a bed or maybe two, or a couch that made a bed, a bathroom, usually with a door but sometimes just a curtain hanging from a rod. Some would advertise the type of heat, either steam or electric, and the cleanliness of the rooms. Television, in-room phones, and air conditioning were nonexistent.

I loved going into the restaurant for breakfast and getting anything I wanted to eat. After all, “We were on vacation!” This was my first experience with the small, tourist court soap, the extremely thin wash cloths and towels, and ice machines. That little bar of “French Milled” soap that refuses to lather is still available on the road.

Wherever we stayed, dad would send me to get a bucket of ice. Nothing tasted better after a long day on the highway than several glasses of ice water. It was all new and wonderful to me.

About noon on the second day of our journey we “made” San Antonio. When the ‘Butler’s’ traveled we would “hit” St. Louis on one trip and we “made” Jacksonville on another. We visited for a day or two and saw the army base and ate at a Chinese restaurant. On the third day we all set out for Old Mexico crossing the border at Laredo.

The Mexican customs agents were polite and asked a few questions. An agent placed a decal on our window indicating that we were “Touristas” and bid us Adios. We crossed the Rio Grande and were immediately aware that the whole world had changed!

We had entered a world of desert indians and old school busses careening down the narrow road with people and baggage hanging all over. Where we would have erected wire fences, the Mexican farmers’ fences were one or two strands of barbed wire strung on scraggly tree limbs stuck in the dry earth. We stopped at a house that had crafts for sale and were immediately surrounded by little dark skinned children. They knew one English word, almost: They asked for “nikk-ees” meaning nickels. We distributed coins all around and went on south.

Monterey is one hundred-fifty miles into Mexico. We were about halfway there when we spotted a young man in the right lane in front of us driving a cart full of fire wood pulled by a Burro. We pulled alongside to make his picture. Evidently he did not want it made and attempted to use his donkey whip on my face. I took his picture anyway in the midst of his angry swing. He missed.

We arrived in Monterey and were immediately lost with no idea where to go for lodging and site seeing. While stopped at one of the few traffic lights in Monterey, a Mexican approached my dad and asked if we needed a guide. He had a cap to distinguish himself from other persons on the street, and he had on a clean white shirt. Well, we did need a guide: Dad shifted over, and we were in the hands of a local guide, Carlos.

We had been taking it easy looking at the buildings and carefully crossing intersections. Carlos took off like a dragster and careened around Monterey’s streets. When approaching an intersection he just blew the horn and sped on through. The theory was that “he who blew first had the right of way!”

We visited shops that had impressive silver jewelry and beautifully tooled leather bags, saddles and belts. We visited a Catholic Cathedral and a large jewelry production factory. Our guide Carlos with the Butlers in tow were welcomed inside. While there I met a young Mexican about 18 years old who was learning the silver engraving trade. I had a signet ring with the initial missing. This young Mexican craftsman-in-training took my plain ring and expertly carved my initials on the flat surface. I gave him a fifty-cent coin, and he could not stop thanking me for my generosity. That fifty cents, American, was many Pesos in Mexico.

Our guide took us to the best hotel in all of Monterey. It was very nice with a beautiful pool. However, I was advised not to go swimming there. We were totally unaware of the problems with the Mexican water: Montezuma’s Revenge.

That night we went to the penthouse of the hotel to a high class supper club with a small stage band and a lady singer: professional musicians who worked hard for a very small audience. My older brother, Bud asked the band to play The Anniversary Waltz because mom and dad’s wedding anniversary was eminent. That was the first and last time I ever saw my parents dance.

Everyone got the Mexican Sampler except me: I ordered the hamburger steak with fried potatoes. The other Butlers hungrily eyed my supper because the hot peppers, cumin, and coriander on the sampler were just too much spice. Growing up in Middle Tennessee for the first half of the century they had never come close to any of those tastes, and they did not like them! We did not starve in Mexico, but we ordered carefully.

There were vendors on every corner selling slices of water melon and other tropical melons and fruits. Some sold flavored ice drinks. There were open air markets with stalls selling things that we had no idea what they might have been. None of this was appetizing to us, and we were not tempted to eat anything from the street vendors.

I wore white buck shoes on this trip, and there were boys my age who were constantly after us to let them shine our shoes. The only colors they had were brown and black, so there was no way I was going to get a shoe shine. Dad and Bud dutifully got their shoes shined: a ‘Photo opportunity.’ Just as we were getting loaded into the car for our return trip a particularly persistent youngster raced up to me waving a jar of white shoe polish. I got my shoes “shined” after all, and he got a fifty cent piece and we both went away happy.

The car was loaded and we were saying goodbyes to the hotel staff who had befriended us and watched over us. Even Carlos came by to wish us a happy trip home. He seemed pleased with his twenty dollar reward for services rendered.

Bud got in to drive with Pat in the middle and I took shotgun. Dad got in back and we pulled out. We had to go down the street to make a “U” turn and pass back by the motel on our way north. It seemed longer, but about forty-five seconds after we passed the hotel dad asked, “Aren’t you going to pick up your mother?” She was standing on the sidewalk in front of the hotel with a concerned look on her face when we came back for her. She was too glad to be reunited with the other Butlers to be angry. We laughed about that for years. I have often thought how I would have felt in that situation.

We altered our return somewhat and drove up the Gulf Coast to Corpus Christi. We played in the surf on a barrier island one late afternoon until ink-black, jelly fish showed up in the rolling surf. A local resident surf fisherman told us that they were dangerous and that the poison in the tentacles would make one very sick and sore. We whacked a few helpless jelly fish that were stranded on the shore out of curiosity: an unrewarding endeavor.

I have been fortunate to have traveled with my parents and during my college summers. Since becoming more or less gainfully employed I have had the opportunity to travel over most of the country and in every nook and cranny of Tennessee. There are places here where the tourist courts in remote areas are refurbished and the signs along the roadside proclaim such amenities as “D D PHONES” which means ‘direct - dial’ phones. I always look for a place with “D D PHONES!”

Judy's China Trip

2008-06-06T19:39:00.001-07:00

Owens Valley California

2008-05-10T05:11:00.000-07:00

Vistas that stretch for scores of miles Owens Valley, California offers unique beauty and heritage.

On January 30-February 5, 2008, Lewis and Judy visited this area after a workshop with teachers there. We had a wonder guide, Kathy Bancroft, one of the workshop organizers. She took us on wonderful guided tours of the area. One of our many favorite areas was the Alabama Hills near Lone Pine. Just wonderful.

Here are some of Lew's Photos:

The Alabama Hills at Lone Pine, CA were a favorite site for filming the back & white westerns of the 30's through the 60's. These "mountains" are very late in the "rock cycle." They are granite and were originally higher than the 15,000+ foot elevations of the Eastern Sierras that range to the west from Ontario, CA up through Mammoth.http://picasaweb.google.com/lewis.butler/AlabamaMtnsFeb0802 This links you to some pictures the

Flying Home from Puerto Rico

2008-04-27T17:55:00.000-07:00

July 24, 2007 Flying Home from Puerto Rico

The interesting thing about airplanes is that a stranger sits next to you for four hours and by the time they leave the plane you feel like you had a glimpse of their life and a piece of there worries and joys. It is very odd this feeling of intimacy for just minutes and as they step out into the isle and drift into the crowd that streams daily into the concourse and you will never see them again.

And so it happened on the plane home from Puerto Rico. A young man sat next to me with his wife and two children in another part of the plane. He spent the next four hours trying to strain over the seat to see if they were OK and wishing they were all together. I would have traded with her but then Lew and I would have been separated and I would have been sad. Across the isle were two young men who hade enlisted in the US Army and were traveling with their recruiter to boot camp. They talked about how nervous they were. They seemed so scared. I wonder what will happen to them? I will never know because that little sliver of their life is real to me for only a brief moment.

El Yunque Rain Forest in Puerto Rico

2007-07-19T19:42:00.000-07:00

July 19, 20, 21, 22, 23, 24

Teachers often tell children in US Schools that we should protect the rain forest. Students are show pictures of the trees and animals in the Amazon jungle or other exotic places. Probably not often mentioned is that within the US Forest Service system is a beautiful tropical rain forest. El Yunque is a green lush haven nestled in the eastern part of Puerto Rico. I had no idea that this tropical forest is managed by the US forest service. Just part of a litany of things that I did not know about the county only a few hours flight away. Puerto Ricans are US citizens with representation in the US congress. Their young people serve in the US military but cannot vote in presidential elections. My ignorance goes on. I am so pleased that I had a conference that brought me to this wonderful place followed by a short family vacation on the island.

We spent four days in a bed and breakfast where the back of the property joined the edge of the protected area called the Caribbean National Forest. It is one thing to read in a textbook about the mystical place called the “rain forest” with dense vegetation and unusual creatures but another thing entirely to sleep with the sounds and smells drifting from only twenty feet away into the window of your bedroom. This was our great fortune on our family in July 2007 when we stayed in the Rainforest Inn. This lovely Bed and Breakfast is aptly named for its proximity to this arboreal setting.

The Inn has two apartments but even with other guests on the property it is secluded. Only 45 minutes from San Juan you drive off the highway and climb up and up the mountain. After entering a gated small community you arrive at this hidden treasure at the lush edge of El Yunque. This is an eco-lodge with no air conditioning and a cistern that collects rain sending it directly to your shower. My favorite part of the eco-lodge experience was bathing in water that fell only hours before.

Beginning an hour or so before dusk a great treat happens, the orchestra of the coqui frogs begins. At first there are only a few tuning up their instruments. Some are bold and others seem shy. As the light wanes many others join the string section, then the tympani can be heard, and the occasional blaring of the tubas. The sound gets louder and louder until it seems like the whole mountain is vibrating. One of the benefits of no air conditions it that you sleep with the windows open with a front row seat to this symphony.

We always travel with a sound machine to drown out the noises in hotels of street traffic with horns honking, heavy doors slamming late at night and the proverbial ice machine right next to your room. One of the options on this devise is the sound of the rain forest. As a joke my husband turned it on switched it to that setting and sure enough it was the coci frogs. I always thought that was some marketing ploy to sell these things. Now when we turn it on anywhere in the country we will be reminded of the “real thing” and our nights with the coci frogs outside our window.

Our hosts Laurie and Bill served a lovely breakfast each morning on our private patio overlooking the mist covered mountain forest. The menus were delightful with mango preserve stuffed French toast, huevos rancheros, and ginger pancakes all accompanied by fresh guava and mangoes.

As pampered Americans living in the suburbs and addicted to air conditioning living without it for four days was a bit of a challenge as the July temperatures climbed into the high 80’s and low 90’s. It would have been much more comfortable for our hikes and sightseeing if we had made the trip in the late fall or early spring. However, the nights were cooler and the sleeping comfortable. We had to bring in our own water for drinking since only cistern water was available. We had a refrigerator and microwave and brought in local goodies to enjoy small meals on the grounds.

The time there flew by too quickly. I know I will find a reason to return.

Coqui frogs in Puerto Rico: July 2007

2007-07-19T10:00:00.000-07:00

Kelly's painting of a frog in a flower currently hanging in Lewis's office.

Th coqui frogs in Puerto Rico started their songs outside our windows beginning at sunset and subsiding at sunrise. Our El Yunque bed and breakfast rooms were filled with this sound every night. At the Rainforest Inn we took the photos below in the patio right outside the bedroom door. The frogs, smaller than a dime, were nestled in a bromeliad strung with small decorative lights. I could not see them until I focused the camera on close up.

Very small frog and very big voice.

Land Between The Lakes

2007-05-22T18:35:00.000-07:00

May 13, 2007 Monday

What a great way to spend Mother's Day! Go to a Tennessee State Park. Our family loves going away from the city of Nashville for long weekends to our country's finest park system. Fortunately the Paris Landing annual Fishing Rodeo was the day before we arrived. We missed the hundreds of anglers cruising the lake for trophy fish.

We made several trips to this park and it seems we explored every inch. Land Between the Lakes is filled with wonderful things to see and here. Elk, buffalo, and bird sanctuaries abound. A naturalist’s haven.

San Miguel, Mexico

2007-05-20T14:15:00.000-07:00

San Miguel, Mexico
Travel Journal written by Judy Butler: March 25 to April 1, 2007

Sunday March 25, 2007
Road Trip, Road Trip! During Christmas holiday break in 1964 when I was 21, my sister and I took a road trip with another friend to Mexico. We started our adventure in my hometown of New Orleans with a hundred dollars that my mother gave each of us. We drove in an old car that broke down every hundred miles all the way to Acapulco. About two thirds of the way the car sputtered and limped into a picturesque sanctuary for artisans called San Miguel de Allende. Then it was an isolated village nestled in the Bajio plateau of central Mexico. I had dreamed of returning for 40 years.

I talked my husband, Lewis, in to making this 2007 road trip. After flying to Leon we took a shuttle from the airport, bouncing along for two hours on a shoulderless, narrow, two-lane road. We descended the looming hills, and we were suddenly squeezed into an even smaller cobble stone passageway between walled and gated houses. The streets of San Miguel give new meaning to the word narrow. When the van pulled up in front of a nondescript wooden door we were skeptical about what we were getting into. Like so many of the villas behind the protected walls were terraced gardens with tile mosaic water fountains and the owner’s lifetime of collected handicrafts of religious statues, pottery, and local artifacts. Our room was part of a casita or small apartment with a kitchen, sitting area, bath and bedroom surrounding a small-enclosed private patio.

The first day of our San Miguel adventure ended with an impressive sunset seen from our secret garden overlooking the city. The glistening spires of the cathedral anchor the center of the city like stalagmites in an ancient cave. We are filled with anticipation of the five days in San Miguel and three days of excursions to other nearby towns of Pozos, Dolores Hidalgo, and Guanajuato.

Monday March 26, 2007
At age 21 my legs did not notice the almost nonexistent sidewalks riddled with divots and the endless cobble stone streets almost impossible to walk on. At age 62 it was hard work staying upright. Actually sightseeing is kind of frightening as you try to navigate what the tour guide referred to as “Gringo Traps”, the unexpected dips and often gaping holes. You have to worry when you find out that there is a sandal developed just for walking here with a big wide ankle strap, the San Miguel Shoe. One day in the cooking school there was a participant who fell and broke her arm several days before and our teacher had fallen and fractured her foot twice in the last few years. We managed to stay upright but at a cost of strained muscles, sore feet, and two bottles of ibuprofen in our seven day stay.

Since 1964 the municipality of Allende has swollen to about 140 thousand (Census 2005). It is still an artesian haven, a thriving community of Mexican people plus a spot for millionaire’s winter homes, tourists, and expatriate Americans who came on vacation and never went home.
We were treated to an in-depth history lesson of the city’s history and the beautiful architecture of 16th century Gothic churches and the unique art of this town through the eyes of our guide, Betse Davies. Oh my, she was a treasure. Betse was so knowledgeable about San Miguel after spending more than a decade and a half as an expatriate here. She is one of several American citizens who donate their time to provide this window on the history of Mexico. Tour groups make a donation to their non-profit, non-government organization, Patronato Pro Niños de San Miguel de Allende. These tours fund free or low-cost medical and dental care to low-income children in the San Miguel and in surrounding towns.

Betse’s stories and descriptions wrought with humor brought alive this colonial town founded in 1542 by Fray Juan de San Miguel, a Franciscan monk. Of course our tour started at the Jardin or square in the center of town with a visit inside of the Parroquia, the pink church that dominates the landscape. With its pseudogothic architecture facade that was added in 1888 it looks to be one of those sand castles you built as a child by wetting sand and dribbling it slowly into towers and peeks like icing on a cake. Betse’s definition of Baroque was, "..that if it feels good do more of it."

The Mexico Culinary Adventure team of Kris Rudolph and her partner Alberto Juares took good care of their charges on the first day, helping us navigate through the bustling streets of markets, sidewalk vendors, tourists, and crowds of local people out shopping. We took a break in a small cafe for coco with Mexican chocolate and Churros, a long skinny fried doughnut that reminded me of the Cafe Du Monde doughnuts served in New Orleans. They certainly did not resemble the puffy rectangle doughnuts that I grew up with, but as the sugary twists were dunked in the hot chocolate they had that same aroma that took me home to the French Quarter.

Then we were off to buy our ingredients of peppers and spices for our first cooking lesson where we made Salsas—aahh, down the path to the world of Poblano Peppers. Lunch featured green enchiladas, beef tips in pasilla salsa and raspberry chipotle brownies. Yes, brownies made with smoked peppers—delicious chocolate morsels with a little zing.

Tuesday March 27, 2007
The town of Mineral de Pozos was a bit of heaven for a rock hound like myself. We visited abandoned silver mine outside of this small village after a 45-minute ride from San Miguel. The tailings and debris was left all around from almost four centuries of lowering men on ropes to depths of 200 feet below ground to dig ore by hand. These colorful chips of rock were piled several stories high around the crumbling walls of the furnaces. In the movie clip a former miner talks about how hard the work extracting the seven heavy metals from the earth including gold, silver, nickel, lead, mercury and copper.

I filled all my pockets with many different kinds of rocks… lava, shale, sandstone, and crystals—the geologic history of millions of years. (Unfortunately I packed the prettiest ones in my backpack and tried to take them as carry-on luggage when we flew home. Did not work. The Mexico inspector made me leave them behind. I was a very, very sad puppy).

We had an interesting guide in Pozos, Dan Rueffert, an expatriate who came here about the same time as my road trip. I went back home to finish college. He stayed and 36 years later owns a painting studio and is a very successful few blocks from his restaurant, Los Famosos de Pozos. Two of the restaurant staff demonstrated how to make Huitilcoche crepes, light delicate egg-based pancakes with Huitilcoche, or corn fungus. Real ugly small black curd-like flakes but actually pretty tasty.

Wednesday March 28, 2007
Maybe it was the corn fungus or just brushing my teeth with the tap water. But ouch, creepy crawly things attacked my stomach. Or maybe it was the gall bladder surgery I had four weeks before this trip. Whatever the cause we skipped the planned day of learning to make Mole Sauces for a trip to the Super Gigante American-style grocery to buy Activia yogurt and green tea. When we returned to the villa with our grocery store treasures we enjoyed the gardens of our villa, put our feet up, painted in my journal, read some fiction, and lingered on the view of the city from our patio.

At dusk my stomach felt well enough for us to go to the Jardine. As we watched the sunset gave the pink limestone of the Parroquia a glow of crimson changing to lavender. Its vibrantly colored spires stood as sentinels guarding the festivities in the square. The bells chimed out their approval of the school children playing soccer and squealing with the pleasure of being able to play and run in the street closed to cars and traffic.

Sunset brings out the Mariachis who begin a kind of duel using lavish instruments and silver studded costumes to entice tourists to sample their music—another “Gringo Trap” but of a different kind. We happily took that bait. Our band was grand on instruments but appeared to know only three songs. All three were sung poorly. They made up in loudness what they lacked in tonal precision. These husksters made us smile and tap our feet to the unpredictable rhythm. What fun. Margueritas, an amazing sunset, squealing children and squealing Mariachis… a total Jardine experience.

Thursday March 29, 2007
Cooking & eating. Cooking & eating. During this week at Kris Rudolph’s culinary school we watched a demonstration by the owner of Bugambilia restaurant. Mercedes Arteaga was our mentor who made three types of stuffed poblanos including Chiles Rellenos, Chiles en Nogada, and Chile Poblano Cream Soup. By today, after five days of restaurant tours and classes we have had 11 different dishes made with Poblano peppers including soup, salsa, breakfast stuffed with eggs, with peanut sauce in Pozos, and with Mercedes peppers stuffed with meat, cheese, and refried beans, and even brownies with a Poblano surprise. Someone in our group joked at breakfast that we might have to join a 12-step program to detox from poblanos when we returned to the states.

OK, so I got a little carried away with buying ceramics in the factories of Dolores Hidalgo. We watched demonstration of how Mexico’s famed pottery is made and hand-painted…and I was smitten. The bright colors of blue, gold, and patterns. We stopped at Jardín del Cantador (Garden) just to taste the unusual flavors of the ice cream vendors. The wonderful thing about the city squares that we visited was the way families and children spending time together. Playing games, eating ice cream, visiting with neighbors and friends. There is something about the jardin in the Mexican cities we visited that reminds me of the small town squares of the United States in the 20’s, 30’s, and 40’s. We have lost that period when we went at a different, more relaxed pace, when people in a town knew each other’s names. You see and here that special town spirit in the Jardin.

Friday March 30, 2007
We visited the historic city of Guanajuato filled with colonial architecture with a gourmet lunch at El Conde de la Valencia. The tour organizers forgot to check the festival schedule and we were in Guanajuato on the day of a huge religious celebration with thousands of people filling the streets. We were totally engulfed by the crowds, but the museums were closed and it was difficult to enjoy the charm of the town squeezed among the throngs of people.

Saturday March 31, 2007
Saturday was all about shopping and packing. Our group had a farewell dinner at Azafrán restaurant. The meal was without Poblano peppers. A blessing.

Sunday April 1, 2007
Although the airtime is only four hours from Nashville to Leon it took eleven hours to get home. This was a grand experience that allowed us just a taste of the Mexican culture and food. We met such lovely people on our trek…but oh my--how great to get home. We have avoided Pablanos for five weeks!

Hong Kong, China

2007-05-18T12:20:00.001-07:00

My eyes opened to the wonderful Chinese culture of Hong Kong

(originally posted February 17, 2007 on JudyButler.com)

With the snow flurries out my window and a 14 degree wind chill blowing in flakes and eddies around the streetlight, I daydream about my nine day adventure in Hong Kong. Only a few weeks ago I was enjoying the 60-degree temperatures on this tropical island in The South China Sea. It was a life changing experience to travel halfway around the world to a culture strikingly different from America but with reminders of the US all around with businesses like Subway, McDonalds, and KFC.

My friends ask me the same question about the trip, “Well, what was your favorite thing about Hong Kong?” After giving long thoughtful consideration, I tell them the most inspirational part of this trip was the visits to the Kwun Tong Government Secondary School and Lee Shau Kee School of Creativity. These school visits were arranged by The American Women’s Association. I was inspired by the energy of the students. One young girl seemed to sense that an older woman like myself would benefit from some assistance in navigating steps. She gently took the hand of a stranger then walked me to her class, found a chair for me and held my hand again to walk back down the hall to meet the others in our group. She was very kind. All of these high school students were polite and respectful needing no prompting from their teachers. I felt enormously welcomed by students and administrators of the two schools. I am grateful to the American Women’s Association and my friend Joan Blackwell for arranging this experience for me. See the gallery of photographs from these school visits.

The sights and sounds of Hong Kong were dazzling. We were bombarded with bright colors and Chinese writing on every building, signs hanging across streets, large billboards filled with script and even some kind of waterproof paper in the fish tanks at sidewalk restaurants. I longed to know what it all said. As a result I have become obsessed with learning The Art of Chinese Calligraphy. I bought three books about this art form at a Nashville bookstore on my return and scoured the Internet for reference materials. My Chinese Brushwork workspace is set out near my computer with the ink and watercolors from a local art supply company and the paper purchased in a store in the southern part of Hong Kong Island. I bought rice paper in an area of Hong Kong called Stanley Market. When I cannot make one more stroke on the computer keyboard for my business, I turn around and make a few strokes of Chinese letters or brush painting. It is very soothing and seems to clear my head. My website is now splashed with Chinese proverbs, poems, and calligraphy of an inspired novice. My apologies to all those who read Chinese for any mistakes in the strokes and for misinterpreted characters.

Shopping in Hong Kong was also very much fun. I returned with many small gifts for family and friends. Of course I also brought back a few items for myself. Now there is something from Hong Kong in every room—a hand painted dragonfly from The Peak resting on the lampshade in my bedroom, a walrus carved from a nut from the Jade Market next to my computer, a beautiful inlaid box on the TV cabinet from the oldest fishing village in the islands, and a carved ornament on every ceiling fan. Each time I see the trinkets sprinkled through out our home I think of this extraordinary journey that has brought me a larger worldview.

So many gracious people that I met along the way from the classrooms in the government schools, to the fishing villages, to the vendors in the Jade Market. Wonderful, welcoming people--what a joy to have had even a westerner’s small glimpse into this culture.