Lansing, Michigan

           After several exhausting hours of driving, I arrived at Cottonwood Campground in Lansing, Michigan with only an hour of daylight to spare. I hurriedly paid for my site, which was in between the camp store and the lake, and began to set up my tent. Michigan had experienced record high temperatures for the past three days, and the bugs were viciously unrelenting so close to the water. I slapped at the fiercely biting mosquitos, cursed, and yanked up my hood, struggling to cook a few skinny pieces of chicken before the sky went completely dark. I ate my simple meal by the ghostly light of a flashlight resting in the grass next to me. After a little while, the bugs began to die down, and I decided to get some rest. I tried desperately to get comfortable, but in the sweltering heat, it was utterly futile. An hour of sweaty tossing and turning later, I blearily stumbled toward the vending machine outside the camp store. With two less than crisp dollar bills in my hand, I was hopeful that the vending machine would not be too finicky. I fed in each bill multiple times, but no matter how I smoothed each bill flat or propelled it into the stubborn slot, the machine refused my petty tender. Irritated, I trudged back to my car, snatched several quarters out of my center console, and marched back to the machine, confidant that now it would see defeat. I fed in 5 coins, all of which slid into the cash box with a satisfying clatter. I selected a bottle of water, but to my utter dismay, it was sold out. I hit the return button, but nothing happened. I pushed the button feverishly several more times, and watched, enraged, as the little screen switched back to its original message. Now thirsty, tired, and annoyed beyond description, I slunk back to my tent, where I spent the hours until morning lying awake in parched, sweaty discontentment.

            At about 4 in the morning, the temperature finally eased up, and I drifted in to that twilight state between consciousness and sleep. Not half an hour later it seemed, a loud clanging noise began from somewhere off in the distance. The campsite was in a wooded area relatively close to a few commercial shipping sites, and apparently several semis had to fill up their tanks just before dawn. The pumps knocked repeatedly, feeling as though they were right upon my aching head, before a glorious moment of silence would bring a precious few seconds of relief. Two minutes later, it would start all over again.

            Completely fed up and drained beyond frustration, I arose and began to blearily pack up my tent. I plugged in my phone at the electrical socket, which along with a water spigot was the only meager comforts I was provided with, and allowed it to charge while I slowly and painstakingly collected my belongings. I found a place on Yelp to eat breakfast not too far away, and with a considerable amount of relief, I left Cottonwood Campground behind.

            The Golden Harvest sounded interesting, with rave reviews online. When I arrived, I was surprised to see that it was just a little place on the corner in an otherwise residential neighborhood. There were several tables outside, and from the view of the street, I could see that the inside was packed. As I approached, I began to hear the familiar sounds of electronic music blasting from the entrance, and a smile crept onto my face for the first time in 12 hours. I walked in or more accurately, waded through the densely packed tables, and took a seat at the counter. The music, the diverse crowd of people, and the vintage memorabilia that decorated the walls overwhelmed my worn senses. The kitchen was right in front of the counter, with a young man training a new girl as a cook. When the server squeezed past them and asked if I would like some coffee. Before he even finished his sentence, I replied, “Yes!” with a more desperate tone than I initially intended. He chuckled and immediately turned to retrieve a mug and the steaming pot. After taking a magnificent first sip, I ordered an omelet with bacon, avocado, and cheddar cheese, with some home fries, and watched eagerly as the pair prepared my meal right in front of me. It was unbelievably good, the best breakfast that I had eaten so far on the trip. As I left the restaurant, I realized that I was miraculously in a good mood, recovered from the unpleasantness of the night before. It is amazing how a fluffy can change the day!

            I journeyed toward the Capitol to begin my day’s research. It was 9/11 and I expected things to be a little more somber than they had been at other Capitols. Indeed, when I arrived, I discovered that a luncheon was being held for the first responders and their families, followed by a ceremony of some sort. Classes of third graders from a local elementary school filled up the tours for that day, so I walked around on my own, occasionally stopping to listen to a guide if my path crossed that of the group’s.  The thing that struck me about the Michigan State House was the intricacy of the painted designs on the walls and ceilings. Each hallway and room was decorated in a slightly different way, and none were left bare. The House and Senate chamber, much to my delight, were no plainer than the rest of the building. Each room was very similar in style, with stenciled paintwork out lining the architecture, and an enormous skylight with each of the seals of the 50 states emblazoned on a pane of frosted glass. The rooms each had large galleries, which were open to the public. They were very pleasant rooms to be in; the sunlight shining through the skylight and the decoration along with aura of history made me feel peaceful.

            The fourth floor provided visitors the opportunity to get a higher perspective of the rotunda, but the balconies up in the dome were closed off to the public, most likely for safety reasons. Having struggled with a fear of heights since a young age, I got a bit of a thrill peering down at the ant-sized people below. My phobia is no longer overwhelming, but I still feel a bit uneasy when I am so far up. Standing at the railing, it felt satisfying to once again look my fear in the face, and let it pass without pulling away.

As a result of my restless night, my energy was fading fast, and I wanted to get to the State Museum while I was still able to retain information. I walked the four blocks to the building slowly, my legs sore and throbbing from my lack of sleep. Upon arriving at the museum, I paid the small entrance fee, and traveled to the second floor to begin perusing the exhibits. One of the same groups of children and their chaperones from the Capitol were just starting a tour in the museum, so I waited patiently for the group to move on before beginning my journey through history and time.

I began at the settlement of native peoples in the region, and made it all the way to the representation of a copper mine during the industrial age. Turning from a plaque I had been reading on the opposite wall, I jumped about a foot in the air and let out a startled gasp when I saw a gentleman in a miner’s uniform standing right behind me. He apologized earnestly for surprising me, and I assured him that it was no trouble at all, still trying to regain composure with my heart beating as though I was being chased by a grizzly bear. It was then that I noticed his nametag, identifying him as a docent, and he asked me if I would be interested in hearing a little about the history of mining in Michigan, as he came from five generations of miners. I responded that I certainly would, and he launched into a detailed story about the labor of the copper mines. He told me that all of the equipment he was wearing was authentic, from his headlamp to his jacket, passed down to him from his family members. He described to me the toil that these workers had to endure for such meager pay, and that some of them would be climbing the ladder out of the mine at the end of the day, pass out from exhaustion, and fall to their death. Not only we they overworked and underpaid, but the mining companies also owned their houses. This came about because when the mines formed, there were no nearby towns in Michigan’s upper peninsula, so the mining companies provided housing, school, medical care, and other necessary supplies to the mining families. Unfortunately, this meant that corporations reached deeply into the lives of the miners and their families, and soon the workers were completely controlled by their employers. For instance, should the man of the household die in a mining accident, which was all too common in the days of no safety regulations, his widow had thirty days to vacate the premises with the rest of their family, or to find another miner to marry.

The miners soon became fed up, and a mass strike rippled across the state a decade after the turn of the 20th century. It was the first official strike of the region, and the stand off between the miners and the corporations that lasted 9 months would be known thereafter as the Copper Country Strike of 1913-1914. The Western Federation of Miners (WFM) was the organization that called for the strike, and with limited funds and the corporations unwilling to budge, many mining families were sent into poverty. Some left the region all together, seeking employment in the rapidly growing economies of Detroit and Chicago. As the winter of 1913 approached, the strike began to weaken.

In December of 1913, the Women’s Auxiliary of the WFM organized a Christmas party for the miner’s families. Citizens of the town and the union contributed funds and gifts for the children, and the function was held on the second floor of the Italian Hall in Calumet. A steep staircase was the only clear way of getting to the second floor. At the height of the party, with 400 people packed into the building, an unidentified man ran into the room and shouted, “Fire!” A panicked stampede ensued, and 73 people were trampled to death in the stairwell, 59 of them children. The worst part of the whole ordeal was that there was no fire in the building at all.

There was never a definitive answer as to who would do such a thing, but when members of the Supreme Court came to the region to retrieve testimony, as many as eight witnesses swore they saw a Citizens’ Alliance button on the man’s jacket. The Citizen’s Alliance was an organization that openly opposed a strike, and to this day there is speculation that it was a tactic staged by the Alliance to disrupt the party. The incident is known today as the ‘Italian Hall Disaster.’ Some believe that Oliver Wendell Holmes Jr. was influenced by the incident just 6 years later in 1919 during the United States Supreme Court Case Schenck v. The United States, when he famously proclaimed, “The most stringent protection of free speech would not protect a man falsely shouting fire in a theater and causing a panic.” Although Holmes was probably not referring to the incident directly, he had definitely heard about it, as it was reported extensively in newspapers across the country after it occurred.

After spending a good deal of time informing me about the history of the mining industry in Michigan, the tour guide left me to explore the rest of the museum. Drained, I left in the late afternoon to the hot sun and the soundtrack of rush hour downtown. I went to a Mexican restaurant by the name of Pablo’s Panaderia a little ways outside of downtown. There I enjoyed an amazing burrito, and left feeling a better than I did when I entered. Unwilling to return to the dreaded campsite, I found a relatively inexpensive hotel in Grand Rapids, where I stayed for the night before driving to Chicago for the weekend.

Overall, my experience in Michigan was a conglomeration of different impressions. Although I had an unpleasant experience camping, many of my discomforts were due to a lack of planning on my part and plain bad luck. I thoroughly enjoyed my breakfast at the Golden Harvest, and felt welcomed by the accepting, tolerant, quirky vibe that generally accompanies college towns. It was amazing how stepping into that restaurant turned around my entire attitude for the day. The museum was interesting, but was made even more enjoyable and worthwhile by the kind and enthusiastic tour guide that spent close to an hour telling me about all of the details of the copper mines. Overall, I wasn’t quite sure what to make of the Great Lakes State, but I knew without a doubt that I would like to return.

Indianapolis, Indiana

           The afternoon baked me in my car as I zoomed into the sunburned landscape of Indiana. Although this state has not seen the worst of the droughts in 2013, it was the first time so far on my journey that the ground looked parched. On both sides of the highway, the grass and other vegetation ached for moisture, and the dust, wind, and sun were unrelenting. It was late afternoon before I reached the southern fringes of Indianapolis.

            The hotel I booked was in the industrial part of town close to the airport, and it was clearly frequented by business travelers only staying for a night or two. After checking in, I set out into town in search of dinner. To my dismay, I discovered that the main highway into downtown was closed due to construction, but luck was with me and the detour was neither complicated nor tedious.

Dozens of buildings along the route appeared to be vacant, whether commercial or residential. I began to lose count of all the ‘For Sale or Lease’ signs that I passed. It is clear that Indianapolis has seen better days, but as I approached downtown, the signs of economic strife began to give way to the hustle and bustle of a thriving city. The contrast was rather startling.

I found the restaurant I had chosen on Yelp, and parking not far away. It seemed that there was some sort of business dinner happening at the place, because several groups of six to ten well-dressed people were seated immediately after responding correctly to the question, “Are you with so-and-so?” After a little while, one of the hostesses walked over and asked if I was over 21. Taken aback and somewhat confused, I immediately responded that I was not. When I asked why she inquired, she explained that no one under the age of 21 is permitted to sit in the bar area by state law. That means not even at a table in close proximity to the bar, regardless of whether or not one even tries to order a drink. It was a bit of a culture shock; I had heard of not being permitted to sit at the bar when one is underage, but not of being forbidden from sitting near the bar. It seemed to me that legislation of this nature would put an undue strain on restaurants, which would have to carefully define what is the ‘bar area’ and what is not. Due to this complication, I waited an additional 10 minutes to be seated. My meal turned out to be well worth the wait, and I left with a bulging stomach and a contented smile.

The next day was the first Sunday on the second leg of my trip. Happy to relax in my hotel room all day, I reveled in the fact that in many areas of the country, there are few things to do on Sundays. It was extremely refreshing; coming from the 24/7 Tri-State area, it was nice to relax without feeling negligent.

Monday morning arrived with the usual dreaded buzz of my alarm. Actually, my alarm doesn’t buzz. My phone gently cradles me awake with a melody of wind chimes that gradually ascends in volume, but I react to it in precisely the same, disgruntled way. After getting my wits about me, I left the hotel in search of the Capitol.

Navigating city roads is never easy if you don’t know where you’re going, and Indianapolis is no exception. I was honked at and sped around too many times to count, and by the time I found parking near the Capitol, I was a little stressed and scatter-brained. The business district of Indianapolis is just like any other city; Men in suits and women in heels whizzing around, making deals, and talking on their phones. The only difference between this metropolis and others that I have visited was the unmistakable barnyard smell that occasionally wafted by my nose.

When I arrived in front of the Capitol, I stopped for a moment to take a few pictures. To me, the outside of the building looked very similar to the Harrisburg Capitol, except for the numerous stairs in the front, and of course the statues were different. When I walked inside, I proceeded to the Tour and Information desk. I bought a book in Vermont called The Capitols Collection in which one can collect stamps from each Capitol, complete with the date of one’s visit. I stamped my book, and waited in the rotunda for the tour to begin.

     The rotunda of the State House was not exceedingly ornate, but enormous as usual. The unique feature of this rotunda was the huge stained glass window that spanned in the interior of the dome. 8 representative statues, each labeled ‘Law,’ ‘Art,’ ‘Liberty,’ ‘History,’ ‘Justice,’ ‘Oratory,’ ‘Commerce,’ and ‘Agriculture’ stood resolutely above the ground floor. These figures all represent practices that are important to the culture and economy of the state of Indiana. After a few minutes, our guide walked over, and the tour began. She started by talking about the construction of the building itself. The building we were standing in was Indiana’s fourth State House. The first building, located in Corydon, Indiana, is still standing. The second building as the Old Marion Courthouse, which was demolished in the early 20th century. The third building, which stood in the same spot as the current Capitol, was modeled after the Parthenon, but the legislature was forced to abandon it due to structural problems. After the destruction of that building, the current State House was built. A carving in the main part of the building proclaimed that the building took about a year to build, from 1887 to 1888, and cost $1,980,969.

The House Chamber was closed to the public for renovations that were needed to update the electronic equipment inside. The Senate Chamber was open, but wasn’t too much to look at. The sharp overhead lighting, and the absolute silence within reminded me of a classroom or library, but not in a very pleasant way. As we walked through the halls, our tour guide told us how the method of heating early in the 20th century, coal, coated the inside of the building in soot. During a series of renovations in the first half of the century, changes were made to the lighting and other aspects of the building that took away most of its original character. All of the painted stencil work throughout the building was covered up in 1958 during a period of poor stylistic decision-making, but thankfully, thorough restoration during the 1980s brought the building back to its original grandeur.

The Supreme Court in Indiana also meets in the Capitol. The chamber has soaring ceilings, and pictures of Indiana’s Supreme Court Justices festooned the walls. Three large windows in the exterior wall are topped with stained glass portions, designed to look like the wise, watchful eyes of owls. It was my favorite room in the whole building, and not just because I love owls.

     The tour only lasted about an hour, and afterwards I went to the Indiana State Museum. After paying a nominal admission fee, I watched a short video about Indiana. One of the unique things about this state is that people from Indiana are not called Indianans, Indiananites, or any other derivative of the state name. Rather, they are called Hoosiers, a demonym that has been used for at least 150 years. There are many theories for the origin of the term, but none are widely accepted as fact. Among these theories is the idea that there was once a contractor named Hoosier who worked on the Louisville and Portland Canal who liked to hire laborers from Indiana. They were called Hoosier’s men, and eventually all people from Indiana were called Hoosiers. James Whitcomb Riley, a well-known poet from Indiana who was often called the “Hoosier Poet,” offered a more amusing explanation. He said the nickname came from the ruthless habits of the early settlers of Indiana, who were known for biting off the noses and ears of their opponents. It was so common that a settler would walk into a local tavern, spot a severed ear on the floor and inquire, “Whose ear?”

After the video ended, I moved on through the rest of the museum, which began with the ancient beginnings of the land that is now Indiana. I perused several exhibits dedicated to natural history, the history of Native American inhabitants, and the first colonization of the land of Indiana before moving on to more recent history. The part of the entire museum that stood out to me the most was the full Klu Klux Klan uniform that was displayed among the other remnants of the Civil Rights Movement. It was very shocking for me to see it shown as matter-of-factly as anything else, as I come from an area of the country where they were not very active as an organization. It would never even occur to a museum curator in the northeast to put something like that on display, because the backlash would be so severe. It was a little unnerving, and a bit of a culture shock, but I had to remind myself that it was a part of the comprehensive history of the region, and a museum as extensive as this one would be remiss if they didn’t include it.

Later that day, I went to a large laundromat on the north end of the city. As I traveled through town, it was remarkable how much my surroundings changed. After leaving downtown, it was only a few blocks before the buildings began to look neglected. Sidewalks and roadways were cracked, crumbled, and in need of repair. Countless ‘For Sale’ and ‘For Rent’ signs bombarded my vision, and the number of fast food restaurants began to increase exponentially. I passed by several corners with dozens of weary individuals waiting by the bus stop, most of them looking exceedingly unhappy. Just as I began to feel a little uncomfortable, I passed over a highway, and the derelict buildings and cracked sidewalks were replaced with enormous, colonial style mansions with perfectly manicured lawns and expensive cars sitting in the driveways. It was very surprising and a little sickening that so many families were enjoying such lavish lifestyles while less than two blocks away many people were suffering through the worst of the economic downturn. I wondered if the people living in the wealthy neighborhood just pretended the languishing masses didn’t exist, just over the highway.

It seemed to me that Indiana has been through some very difficult times lately, along with the rest of the world. They have sustained one of the worst unemployment and underemployment rates in the entire country, and the economy is creeping along at sloth-like pace. It was heart wrenching to witness first hand, and I felt a huge amount of empathy for the people dealing with the hardship. Despite the economic hardship, many of the people that I encountered in Indiana seemed stubbornly positive, and inspiringly tenacious, and it was clear to me that the perpetuated misfortune was not for a lack of trying. With my mind filled with the questions of our tumultuous times, the next morning I set out for Michigan.

Frankfort, Kentucky

           I arrived in Kentucky late at night and stayed in Lexington before traveling to Frankfort in the morning. I booked an inexpensive hotel room in the suburbs of the city. Unfortunately, I got what I paid for. At first, I didn’t notice anything too unpleasant about the room, but as soon as I pulled the blanket back, I was horrified to see hair, finger nails, and what looked like blood stains in between the sheets. It was already late and I was exhausted, so rather than try to find a different room, I crashed in my sleeping bag on top of the blanket. The next morning, I told the lady at the front desk about the situation, and asked for a refund. She immediately acquiesced, leaving me with the uneasy impression that I was not the first person to complain.

            Grateful to be moving on from the aforementioned fleabag, I set out for Frankfort, about an hour away. It was almost noon on a Thursday morning, and people were out and about. Children were playing in a fenced schoolyard under the watchful eyes of their teachers. Frankfort feels like the small town it is; at about 25,000 souls, it is the fifth smallest capital in the United States. 

When I turned the corner onto the Capitol grounds, the first thing I noticed were that several young men were attending to the flowers, pulling out weeds, and trimming the hedges. The landscaping was vividly beautiful, and the cloudless September sky illuminated the grounds in all their glory. As I approached the Capitol, I also noticed that the lawn itself was not treated with chemicals; it did not look artificially uniform and bright green with only one kind of grass, but rather was allowed to be somewhat left to its own devices. This gave me a very positive first impression, because I would rather see people working diligently pulling weeds out of flower beds, than see a chemically-treated, ‘perfect’ lawn. I appreciated the Commonwealth of Kentucky putting the health of the environment and its employees over convenience and aesthetics.

After taking a number of pictures of the outside, I climbed the steps to the front entrance. The outside looked very similar to other neoclassical Capitols. There was a large, grey dome in the middle, 6 columns in the front, the American Flag flying in front of the dome, and way too many steps leading up to it. Upon entering, I realized that a tour had just started, so I hurried into the rotunda to join the rest of the group. Our tour guide was a young woman not much older than I, and she spoke passionately about the history of her state and the Capitol. Throughout the tour, the sparkle rarely left her eyes and a smile remained on her face.

The rotunda was enormous. It soared several stories above my head, with skylights allowing the mid-day sun to shine through. There were also artificial lights above the windows that steadily changed through a spectrum of colors, giving the inside of the dome a little modern artsy flair. From the main floor, one could look up to the vast open space that dominated the wings of the building. It had a multi-story gallery surrounding two sweeping staircases, each wing a mirror image of the other. The open space allowed for someone to stand on the second or third floors, in front of either the House or Senate Chamber, and look across the building and through the rotunda to a person standing on the other side. In fact, if both Houses of the legislature were in session at the same time, and the doors to both chambers were left open, the Speaker of the House and the President of the Senate could make eye contact. The numerous columns and internal expanse facilitated a classically monolithic environment, like the Ben Franklin Institute in Philadelphia, or the Coliseum in Rome.

Just off of the rotunda, a display case held several figurines in ball gowns. Our guide explained that these are dolls of all of the first ladies of Kentucky, and the dresses they wore to the inaugural ball. In the case of the first female Governor of Kentucky, Martha Layne Collins who served from 1983 to 1987, her figurine was on display in the case instead of her husband’s. As our docent explained, few other Capitols have similar exhibits, and this is one of the aspects of the Kentucky Capitol that make it special.

We walked upstairs to the State Reception Room, where press conferences and other meetings take place. In the center of the room sat a large table with a marble top. It is immensely heavy, and takes a considerable effort to move it, which is why it remains exactly where it is, for the most part. From the State Reception Room, one can look out across the city and see Daniel Boone’s grave on a hilltop a ways away.

Daniel Boone was one of the most beloved and iconic American pioneers, primarily famous for blazing the ‘Wilderness Road’ through the Appalachian Mountains, and settling the land that is now Kentucky. There he founded Boonesborough, one of the first American settlements west of the Appalachians. By the turn of the 19th Century, hundreds of thousands of people had traveled his Wilderness Road, and due to an account of his adventures published in 1784, he gained widespread fame throughout America and Europe. The epic legend of Boone has lasted throughout the generations, and has grown larger than the man himself. The general public remembers him simply as the famous frontiersman, and the fantastic tales of his exploits often overshadow the factual details of his life.

We moved on to the House chamber, which was traditional and practical, and not much different from the Senate chamber across the building. It seems that in many of the Capitols, the Senate and House Chambers are not usually the most aesthetically pleasing, and most of them are set up in exactly the same way. Our next stop was the Supreme Court Chamber. Kentucky is one of the few states in which the Supreme Court occupies chambers in the Capitol building. This room was used as the Court of Appeals until 1976, when the Supreme Court took office there. The room is very dimly lit, but the ceiling is beautiful, made of “Old Dutch Metal” leafing hammered down to look like copper. Our guide told us that this room was her favorite, and I would have to agree. Although there wasn’t a vast array of ornate decoration, the room felt very calming and studious, similar to a library.

Going downstairs, we were given a look at a bust of one of the honorary Colonels of Kentucky. That’s right, you guessed it: Colonel Harland Sanders, founder of Kentucky Fried Chicken. Governor John Y. Brown Jr. dedicated the bust to honor Sanders for starting such a successful business in his retirement years, and also for making Kentucky a household name. I thought it was amusing that Kentucky made Sanders an official, honorary Colonel of Kentucky, as I had been under the impression that the title was simply a marketing tactic.

After leaving the Capitol, I went to a sandwich place called Penn Station. It was a chain, and sort of like Quiznos, but the young man behind the counter was very attentive. I asked him to make my fries crispy, and he followed up by asking if I would like them a little crispy, or very crispy because different people like different things. It was surprising to me, given that it was likely he wasn’t making much more than minimum wage, why would he care? He cared because I was in Kentucky, and southern hospitality is alive, well, and unwavering. He wanted my less-than $10 sandwich and fries to be delicious and satisfying, not because he was paid to care, but because he truly, genuinely cared. I ate my sandwich and left with a smile stretching ear-to-ear, much happier than I was when I entered.

Later in the evening, I went out in search of dinner. I ended up going to Bistro 241. My dinner of pesto chicken and pasta was incredibly delicious, but it wasn’t the strongest memory of the evening. While I was walking back to my car, I saw that a block of the street in front of the Old Capitol was blocked off. As I approached, I realized that two restaurants and two bars had pulled all of their tables out on to the street so that their customers could enjoy their meals and beverages while listening to two gentleman playing music at the end of the street. People were laughing and dancing, children were running around and playing with one another, and the musicians were playing at least two instruments each. Something like this would never happen in the northeast, at least without months of prior planning and the acquisition of several permits. To everyone here, it was just the average Friday night. Instead of one restaurant hiring a live band to boost their own revenue at the expense of their neighbors, they all took part in the food and entertainment. They shared the music and the street, and made it better for everyone. It was a wonderfully American thing to witness.

Kentucky gave me the impression that many of people there cared more about the enjoyment of the many rather than the personal benefit of the individual. In essence, the sense of community was compelling. From my experience at Penn Station to the enthusiasm of Capitol tour guide to witnessing the entertainment in the street Friday evening, many people in Kentucky showed me a generous and amicable side of the human race that I have rarely found elsewhere; at least, so far on this trip.

The next morning, Kentucky disappeared behind me as the sunburned landscape of Indiana appeared before me. Only a few states into my journey, I was gaining a new appreciation for the spirit of our nation, and the people that inhabit it. Already I’d experienced a broader rage of culture than I had come to know in my life so far. I was excited to see what Indiana would have to offer. 

Charleston, West Virginia

          The drive from Harrisburg to Charleston was the longest distance between capitals so far. Although I had been warned in general to avoid interstates in favor of more scenic drives, I decided to take the highway for this portion. At least in the case of I-79 south, the interstate proved to be wondrously scenic as well. I dipped into valleys and rolled over hills as the afternoon carried me west. I traveled through tunnels that carved paths through the base of mountains. Each turn in the road revealed a new rainbow of vegetation, sky, and clouds. The scenery was so pleasant that the ride seemed to take no time at all, and before I knew it, I arrived at West Virginia’s capital city.

            The hotel I had chosen a few days before was just two highway exits before downtown. It wasn’t lavish, but very clean and comfortable. It was at check-in that I experienced my first taste of southern hospitality. The kind woman behind the desk looked me in the eyes, smiled, and called me ‘honey.’ To some, this may not be a huge deal, but as familiar as I had become with the anonymity of the higher population density of New Jersey, it was like a breath of fresh air. I immediately felt welcomed and appreciated, and I was in a considerably better mood for the rest of the evening.

            It was getting late and I was unsure of where I should go for dinner, so I went to Harding’s Family Restaurant next door. It was less than an hour before closing time, so I was a little nervous when I walked in and half-expected to be treated like an inconvenience. Much to my surprise, the waitress was just as welcoming as the lady at the front desk, and could not have been friendlier. It occurred to me that my apprehension comes from growing up in the Tri

-State area, where it is an unspoken rule to avoid going to any restaurant too close to closing time for fear of being treated poorly. Once again, I felt an overwhelming sense of relief to be in an area where hospitality and kindness comes before personal convenience. Sure enough, my meal was excellent, and I returned to my room with a renewed faith in the compassion of the human race.

The next morning I returned to the same restaurant for breakfast, feeling optimistic after my positive experience the night before. It was mid-morning and the place was packed. I ordered a standard breakfast of eggs and bacon, and when the waitress brought the meal over, she took a look at the bacon, and asked if it was crispy enough, because she could bring it right back if I would like it a little more done. Again, I was surprised by how attentive she was. I have never had a waitress make absolutely sure I was happy with what I ordered before moving on to her next table. She did not have to make the effort, but I could tell that she really wanted me to have an enjoyable meal. After eating, with a full stomach and a positive attitude, I set out for Charleston.

I drove down to the Capitol building, just a short distance from my hotel. It was situated in a square that was about three city blocks in size. The complex housed a memorial for the major wars of the twentieth century, the Capitol, the State Museum, and various other state government buildings. In the front of the State House, which faces the canal, a large statue of Abraham Lincoln surveyed the street with wise serenity. The inscription read, “Abraham Lincoln Created the State of West Virginia by Proclamation and Signature.” And beneath that, “West Virginia Joined the Union June 20th, 1863.” When I see any depiction of Lincoln, I always get the impression he is about to say something incredibly profound. This statue was particularly moving, because without him, neither the ground that I was standing on nor the building behind his frozen form would be a part of the state of West Virginia.

            As I learned from the two friendly women at the tour information desk, there were no guided tours available that day, but I was free to walk around as I pleased. I soon discovered that they were doing some sort of painting or restoration work in the Senate chamber, and I could not see any of it at all. The House of Delegates Chamber was traditional for a State House, not overly decorated, and quite unremarkable. The rest of the building, at least what I saw of it, was a simple reflection of its state. The inside of the dome was painted a plain royal blue with skylights at the top to illuminate the rotunda. An enormous chandelier with countless lights hangs from the center of the dome, and I could only imagine the ordeal it must be to maintain and clean it, let alone replace a light bulb. The walls were of plain stone without much decoration, and although the dome has the same dwarfing effect that most do, it was not particularly appealing.

             I left the State House and walked down a shaded sidewalk to the State Museum. It turned out that that West Virginia State Museum was far more informative and interesting than the State House itself. There one can learn about West Virginia’s unique path to statehood during the Civil War. The people of Virginia wanted to secede from the Union, but the communities in the western portion of the Commonwealth felt differently. With Lincoln’s approval in April of 1863, West Virginia became its own state two months later, shortly before the Battle of Gettysburg. It is the only state that formed by seceding from a Confederate state. Because of the political nature of its formation, and its location, West Virginia reflected some of the deepest cultural divisions over the Civil War and its history. Despite this turbulence, many citizens in the region were adamant in their wish to remain in the Union.

            The culture and attitude of West Virginians is also evident in their state motto. In Latin, Montani Semper Liberi means ‘Mountaineers are always free.’ Joseph H. Diss Debar, the same man who designed the state seal, suggested it as the state motto. It is difficult to think of a phrase that could better encapsulate the ideals of West Virginians; rather than be forced into seceding from the Union to perpetuate the practice of slavery, West Virginia became its own state in order to claim its independence and that of its African American residents.  It is an impeccable example of American autonomy that the rest of the nation should be proud of.

            After exploring both the Capitol and the museum, I was ravenous. Just a block away from the Capitol Complex was a restaurant called the Bluegrass Kitchen. As I walked around the building from where I parked, I noticed a sign in the window that read, “West Virginia is No Place for Hate.” For me, it summed up everything I had learned about the state thus far. In one of the most tumultuous times in our history, West Virginia felt so strongly about the rights of people, the importance of equality, and the value of maintaining the Union that it seceded from a Confederate state. Other southern states had similar divisions, like East Tennessee and central Texas, but only West Virginia broke apart over it.

            It was the late afternoon and the restaurant wasn’t very busy, but there were a few tables of smiling people enjoying their meals, laughing, and conversing with each other. Modern paintings decorated the walls, each one composed in a slightly different style than the last. Right behind the table I was sitting at, there was a handwritten list of titles and their corresponding prices. The ceiling seemed unusually high for a restaurant, and had a kind of industrial pattern to it. None of the individual elements of the room seemed like they would go together, but somehow there was harmony that is difficult to describe. It was a perfect example of the whole being greater than the sum of its parts.

My mind was still turning over the discoveries of the day, and I was somewhat absent minded when the waiter came to the table. He must have picked up on my mood, because he was not very talkative either, but he was kind and professional. When he returned with my soda, and I ordered the chicken tostada, he suddenly exclaimed, “Oh, good choice! That’s my favorite! I eat way too many of those.” He smiled, looked me right in the eyes, and laughed in a very real and uninhibited way. I felt like we shared an authentic moment of familiarity, almost as if I had made a new friend that easily. To me, that moment encapsulated all of the interactions I had experienced since entering West Virginia. It was as if every person I spoke to was a friend that I hadn’t met yet. I could definitely get used to this.

            After a very satisfying meal, I was walking out of the restaurant just in time to see a band setting up. I was disappointed that I missed the show, but the time constraints of my travels demanded that I move on. Dragging my feet back to the car, I spotted a young man sitting in a little red car with the back seat loaded to ceiling with drums, and I asked him if he was playing at the Bluegrass Kitchen. He chuckled and said that he was going to a practice session nearby, and that he used to play with this one band regularly, but they broke up years ago. He explained that an owner of a local venue begged them to do a reunion show for Halloween. A sheepish grin crept onto his face, and I wish him luck for the show.

I hit the road, turned up the music, and headed toward Kentucky. The setting sun smoldered above the horizon, lighting up the countryside with golden rays. As the day came to a close, another state welcomed me into its borders.

           

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