Easin' Along

We left Knoxville on Saturday, May 11, just in time to miss the Northern Lights show that will probably never hover over us again. Oh, well, timing is everything, right? Our usual first stop when traveling the southern route to the west is Maxwell Air Force Base in Montgomery, Alabama. We only visit for one night, but five hours from Knoxville, it’s convenient for a one-nighter. 

We got up early the next day and headed for Biloxi, Mississippi, to spend three nights looking for sun and friendly casinos. The sun cooperated. On our third day in Biloxi, Helen wanted to drive the short distance to Ocean Springs, MS, to tour a museum that Janet, her pottery instructor, had suggested–The Walter Inglis Anderson Museum of Art, known for its unique collection of Anderson’s works. 

Museums are not usually my preferred choice for recreation, but I recently purchased a new prime lens for my DSLR (85mm f1:1.8) and was eager to try it out on some closeups. I drove while Helen worked Wordle. The museum was busy, but I found a personal connection with Anderson’s art that made the visit more enjoyable.

Walter Anderson (1903 – 1965) was born in New Orleans and spent much of his youth there. In 1922, he entered The New York School of Fine Art and later the Pennsylvania School of Fine Arts, where he studied modernism under some well-known artists who painted in that style. From Pennsylvania, he received a scholarship to study in France, where he was impressed by cave drawings, which later influenced his style. From there, Anderson moved to Ocean Springs to work in Shearwater Pottery, a family business started by his brother. Income from the pottery allowed him to marry and raise a family. Walter hated working in the pottery.

He preferred to be alone on Horn Island, where he studied the birds and wildlife and would also draw and write. 

I was impressed by his art and his life. The museum displayed his drawings and murals alongside narratives about the works and excerpts from the hundreds of logbooks he kept during his life. Anderson was very creative, and his brightly colored paintings were fabulous. One of his most famous works was the murals he painted inside the Ocean Springs Community Center. The entire room was Anderson’s palette except for a small unfinished area over a window. 

Walter died in 1965 from lung cancer. After his death, his wife cut off the lock of a door into a small room of his studio and found the entire room covered in murals. Paint splatters covered the floor. She also found hundreds of paintings and his logbooks and preserved them for a museum. Unfortunately, Hurricane Katrina, a devastating natural disaster, destroyed some of his work when Shearwater Pottery stood in the hurricane’s path, removing some of his artistic legacy. 

I’ve shared some pictures from the museum, both above and below. I hope you enjoy them. Please click on any of them to enlarge.

After our museum tour, we visited Shearwater Pottery to look around. A delightful lady named Laura greeted us and pointed out several pieces as examples of items available. Helen found a clay cat she liked as a gift for our granddaughter, a cat lover. Laura explained that the cats would be fired that afternoon, and she would send a picture for Helen to choose the one she wanted. The picture came via email the next day. Helen chose two–the third from the left (dragonfly on the chest) and the brightly colored blue and yellow piece (fourth from the right). Laura shipped them that afternoon.

Because the casinos in Biloxi weren’t kind to us, we decided to drive nine miles further to Gulfport and did much better. We like Gulfport and should have camped there, but that’s hindsight. 

We drove to Iowa, LA, on Wednesday and spent the night in Blue Heron RV Park. This lovely campground is about fifteen miles from Lake Charles, LA. Before we left on Thursday morning, John, the campground owner, stopped by our trailer to thank us for camping there. He was a true Southern gentleman.

Thanks for traveling with us. We hope to reach San Diego by June 1, but we’ll stay in touch as we Ease Along. Next up–Galveston and San Antonio. 

We spent ten days in Charleston, SC, helping with our granddaughters while our son was away on business and our daughter-in-law had an intense work week. We jumped at the task when offered. I’ll have more about the visit later, so I’ll leave it by saying we had a lot of fun.

Before returning to Knoxville, we spent two nights at our favorite campground in Cherokee, NC. We had two hopes: 1) That the wildflowers in the Great Smoky Mountains National Park would be in bloom, and (2) we hoped we would drain Cherokee Casino of its cash reserves. Hope number two didn’t materialize on our first night, but we walked out whole with only minor damage.

We rose early the following day and drove to Deep Creek Campground inside the National Park for a wildflower hike. New Park regulations require that visitors pay for parking. We went to a ticket kiosk, purchased a one-day pass, and then drove to the parking lot nearest the hiking trail. We were in the Park early on a fabulous day for a hike. 

Within the first one hundred yards of the trail that runs along Deep Creek, we caught a glimpse of a large bed of Purple Phlox. We immediately felt great that we could conquer hope number one…the wildflowers were in bloom.

We spent about two hours strolling along the trail and photographing wildflowers blooming in abundance. Large beds of Wild Dwarf Iris (my favorite) and Purple Phlox were everywhere, requiring that we walk slowly to take it all in. I’ll take my luck here rather than the Casino anytime.

In addition to the wildflowers, we passed two large groups of Yellow and Pipevine Swallowtail Butterflies. We asked several hikers if they knew what caused them to huddle this way, but no one had an answer. A reader may supply one.

Also on the trail were at least four large dogs walking beside their owners. I noted this because there is a large “NO PETS” sign at the trailhead, and dogs are not allowed in the National Park except for two trails. Deep Creek Trail is not one of them. Helen and I know the pet rule and left Mortimer in our trailer. The dogs passed two Park Rangers who said nothing to the hikers with dogs. I asked the Ranger why she let them pass. She just shrugged, said, “Some people simply cannot follow the rules,” and dropped it. I wouldn’t let the episode ruin a lovely day, but that’s the last time Mortimer is not included on a hike.

Helen and I walked to Indian Creek Falls and back before returning to our vehicle, a distance of about two miles. I have inserted a gallery of many of the flowers I photographed in the space below. There is only one that I cannot identify, but again, I’m counting on a knowledgeable reader to help me here. I hope you enjoy them as much as we did. (Note: A reader identified the unknown wildflower as Henbit and pointed out that I had mistakenly identified Dog Hobble as Solomon’s Seal. Senior moment…Thanks, Janet!)

Please click on any image to enlarge

I wore a T-shirt with “Army” stenciled across the front to a S.A.I.L. exercise class sometime last year. Jim Cundall, a classmate, walked over and introduced himself. Jim asked me about my Army service. After chatting for a few minutes, he told me he was an Honor Air Knoxville coordinator. This organization hosts a group of military veterans on flights to Washington, D.C., twice a year for a day of sightseeing and visits to the Military Memorials. I told Jim I was familiar with the organization and would love to go on one of the flights.

“Can you go on short notice?” he asked. “Possibly,” I replied because of our RV travel throughout the year. Jim explained that the flights are always filled long in advance, but there are always cancellations before the actual trip date, and he tries to fill them whenever he can. I asked him to put me on the waiting list.

For the record, I spent 24 wonderful years in the Army, both active and reserve. In 1968, I entered the service as an enlisted soldier and later earned a commission through Army ROTC. When I finished ROTC and graduated, Helen and I were married. I assumed I would be sent to Vietnam, but we were sent to Germany instead and spent an incredible three years there, plus another year serving at Fort Jackson, SC. After active duty, I missed Army life and, with a new baby, needed cash, so I joined the Army Reserve and served for another 20 years. I retired as a Lieutenant Colonel (a distinction I’m very proud of).

Soon after my conversation with Jim, he called and said he had a spot on the next Honor Air flight if I could make it. Unfortunately, Helen and I would be out of town on that date, but Jim said he would put me on the list for the flight scheduled for April 10 of this year. I thanked him and put it on my calendar, not to be touched.

(Click on any image below to enlarge)

In March, the sponsors of Honor Air hosted 133 participants for breakfast on the upcoming flight. The purpose of the breakfast was to cover the itinerary for the day in D.C. and assign each of us to a team for the trip. There would be four teams on the flight, and each team would consist of groups of four or more veterans. An escort was assigned to each group of four. I was on Team Red. The other three veterans in my group were members of my exercise class, and therefore, the Honor Air flight would allow me to get to know them better. I also knew Stephanie, our escort, because she is a member of our church and the daughter of one of the veterans in our group. I looked forward to the flight eagerly.

April 10 arrived, and I was up at 4:30 am and in the airport waiting area by 6:00 am. A smiling Eagle Scout welcomed me, introduced himself proudly, and escorted me into the terminal. The waiting area was alive, with veterans and their families exchanging greetings and posing for pictures. Local television and newspaper reporters scampered about gathering interviews with some older veterans for broadcast and publication later in the day. Two veterans had served in World War II, fifty (plus) in Korea; the remainder were from the Vietnam era or had served there. After everyone was accounted for and finished the breakfast the sponsors provided, we were hustled to the departure gate for boarding.

Eddie Maniss, Honor Air’s longtime sponsor and strong supporter, made some remarks. Knox County Mayor Glen Jacobs addressed the group and thanked them for their service. Mayor Jacobs joined us on our flight. We boarded quickly—the security check was not an issue.

Flights from Knoxville to Washington take one hour and one minute exactly, and we arrived on time. Once we arrived at the gate at Reagan National and began walking off the plane, a gentleman sitting among the passengers awaiting later flights recognized us as a group of military veterans and started clapping. Everyone in the terminal rose and clapped with him within seconds. It was a moving experience.

I boarded the Team Red bus and sat with Vern, my seatmate on the airplane. Our first stop was the Air Force Memorial, where we began a routine that was followed throughout the day. Air Force veterans stood in front of the Memorial Towers and the statues for pictures and to read the words inscribed there. Similar activity was repeated at the Marine Memorial and the World War II Memorial.

At the Vietnam Veterans Memorial, our veterans scattered about, joining other visitors searching for names of military personnel killed during the conflict. With the help of one of our escorts, I located the names of three servicemen who attended Bearden High School, my alma mater. I played basketball with Mike Dawson—a good guy. He was killed in action shortly before his scheduled departure from Vietnam. Bill Bishop was a neighbor and an outstanding athlete, playing baseball and basketball. Chip Pilkington, tall and handsome, was a few years older. He married a lovely girl in my class at Bearden. Seeing all three names was an emotional experience.

The Korean War Memorial featured statues of soldiers covered in ponchos and walking in a spread formation. One inscription quoted a War Veteran station as saying that the U.S. military had covered the entire country of Korea by foot. I went to the Memorial to read the names inscribed there and found the name I wanted. General Walton Walker commanded Korean War forces and was killed in action. His son, General Sam S. Walker, served as the Commander of the Third Infantry Division and, later, the U.S. Commander of Berlin. General Walker asked me to be his aide-de-camp in the Third Division and took Helen and me with him when he was appointed to the post in Berlin.

We attended the impressive Changing of the Guard ceremony at the Tomb of the Unknown Soldier. Our veterans in wheelchairs were given a front-row seat and sat in rapt attention. The guards’ precision bore witness to many hours of practice and dedication.

All too soon, it was time to return to the airport for the flight back to Knoxville. My description of the day’s events doesn’t do justice to our time there. We were allowed to linger long at the Memorials and completely absorb their purpose, meaning, and historical significance. I tried to listen carefully to the conversations of veterans who had served in various conflicts better to understand their thoughts about the experience and their roles while serving in them. I learned a lot.

It was an exceptional day, but nothing prepared me for what awaited us at the airport. Walking from the arrival gate into the terminal area, HUNDREDS of friends and family members stood clapping and shouting thanks and greetings to every veteran coming into the terminal. The University of Tennessee Band played “Rocky Top” and lively arrangements of patriotic music off to one side. Flags, banners, and balloons were everywhere. I’ve stated repeatedly that the day was a moving experience, but nothing moved me like this.

I finally spotted Helen in the crowd, accompanied by a group of dear friends from our neighborhood. Dottie and Betsy were waving flags and smiling broadly. Jean and Pat offered a vigorous welcome to all. It was special. Little boys shook my hand, and girls in Girl Scout uniforms handed me Scout cookies as I walked by. Moms gave me balloons to take home…they are still there. As I walked from the airport, the band was still playing, and the hugs had not ceased. It was quite a day, indeed.

I came away from this trip with two thoughts. First, Honor Air is a remarkable organization. The sponsors—Prestige Cleaners, Covenant Health, American Airlines, and many others—deserve sincere appreciation for their support. The countless volunteers who give their time to ensure a smooth, worry-free, and memorable experience can’t be thanked enough. I owe you.

Second, as a veteran, I have been rewarded handsomely for my 24 years of service. In addition to a pension, Helen and I benefit greatly from the health care support we receive for life. Access to the outstanding campgrounds on military installations has enabled us to travel the country affordably. We have made lifetime friends everywhere we traveled and served. On the other hand, the servicemen and women who were called into service or volunteered and did everything asked of them to the best of their ability often came home without the thanks or recognition they deserved. This trip is a marvelous way of saying thanks.  It was an honor to fly with every veteran on this day. Honor Air, I’m honored you asked.

This post was much longer than my usual 750 words, but I had a lot I wanted to share. I also took a lot of pictures. I have included more of them in the gallery below. I hope you enjoy them. Again, please click on any of them to enlarge.