Nauvoo, Part 2

In 1839 when the Mormons arrived at the place in Illinois they eventually named Nauvoo, it was a small town called Commerce. They bought the site in 1840 and renamed it Nauvoo. They Mormons cleared land between the Mississippi river and the hill or bluff upon which they built a Temple. The land east of the bluff was very flat. In 1844 there were 15,000 people in Nauvoo, making it the second largest city in Illinois. It was not a typical frontier settlement. There were many craftsmen, tradesmen, etc. in Nauvoo. Many converts to Mormonism from England, Canada and the eastern United States settled there and plied their trade. Consequently there was not much need for outside goods which was one of the sore points with others in the area. The other Illinois residents were also afraid of them voting as a block.

The photograph below shows a section of prairie in Nauvoo that has been restored to its original state. The woman in the photo is about five feet two in height.



Below is a photograph of the Mansion House. It was used at various times as a home for Joseph and Emma Smith and as a hotel.



The handsome red brick home below is Brigham Young's home. The red brick is typical of locally made brick and is sometimes known as "Nauvoo red brick."



The small building below is a boot and shoe shop owned by a man from Germany named Riser. It also served as the family home.



This is inside the shop and shows a number of lasts on the wall along with other items related to the shoemaker's trade.



This photo shows a tool used to cut heels from leather. The cut pieces were then stacked together until the correct heel height was obtained. You can also see a bin of wooden pegs used to attach the sole, as well as a bin of small brads.



Below is a view of the Smith family cemetery, literally on the bank of the Mississippi. Joseph's father and mother, his wife Emma and his brother Hyrum are all buried here.



Blacksmith at work.



This is a stock used to support an ox while it is being shod. Unlike horses, oxen cannot support themselves on three legs, so the stock is necessary to keep them upright while the farrier shoes them.



I may be wrong but I believe that below is a photo of the only ceramic defecatorium I have ever seen, although they are fabled in song and story.



Below is John Browning's house and shop. John Browning was a gunsmith as well as blacksmith.At this time(1844) he was making regular guns as well as slide guns, which were a repeating rifle in which a clip fed in rounds from the side as opposed to vertically. The clip held up to 25 rounds. John and his family traveled to Utah with the rest of the saints and established the Browning gun works in the Ogden--Morgan area. His son, John Moses Browning, was a firearms genius. He developed the Browning light machine gun, still used by armies around the world, the US Army .45 pistol(sold the rights to Colt), most if not all the machine guns used on US aircraft in WWII, the Browning Automatic Rifle(BAR)used extensively by US infantry in WWII and Korea, and many other innovations. Browning Arms are still associated with quality and innovation.



This rocking horse was the prized possession of John Taylor's small boy at the time they were forced out of Nauvoo. With a limited ability to take necessities, the rocking horse was left behind when they crossed the Mississippi. The boy was inconsolable, and his father returned to Nauvoo and brought the rocking horse to the boy. It made it all the way to Salt Lake City, and was eventually returned to Nauvoo by the Taylor family.



This is the landing at the foot of Parley Street. It was here that boats landed and from here that the Mormons crossed the Mississippi to Montrose, Iowa when they were forced to leave Nauvoo. They began leaving in February, 1846, driving teams and wagons across the river on the ice.



When the ice melted they crossed the river on ferries, such as the one shown below.



Nauvoo from Montrose, Iowa with the Temple prominent on the bluff. This is what the Mormons last view of Nauvoo would have been.

Nauvoo, Part 1

We recently visited Nauvoo, Illinois for the first time.My wife and I both have ancestors who came there and were driven out, first to Iowa and then to Utah. Nauvoo is a beautiful small city on the banks of the Mississippi, across the river from Montrose, Fort Madison and Keokuk , Iowa. It was established by the Mormons in about 1839. Following the murder of Joseph Smith and his brother, Hyrum, in 1844, it was abandoned in 1846. One of the things they did before they left was build the first fully functional Mormon temple. They were only able to use it a short few months before they had to leave, driven out by mobs in February 1846. Some time after leaving Nauvoo, the Temple caught fire and was destroyed. In 2002 it was rebuilt on the original site as closely as possible to the original building plans and is now in use.

The photo below is the cornerstone

The photo below is from the back, southeast corner.



Below is some detail from the back.



Below is detail at a corner, showing two sunstones, stars and star windows.



Statues of Joseph and Hyrum Smith on horseback, depicted as riding to Carthage. They are located just west of the Temple on the bluff.



Detail





View from back.



A patch of prairie as it was with the Temple visible in the background.


Ox in a pasture with the Temple in the background.


Sunset over the Mississippi


gave the Temple this beautiful glow.

Christmas in July

I don't know how the weather is where you are, but here its miserable. Highs 108 to 117 and our monsoon has started, which means increased humidity. I was looking at some photos and decided I would try to fool myself into feeling cooler by displaying some photos of Christmas Lights.

The LDS Mesa Temple decorates the gardens, grounds and visitors center every Christmas season. It usually runs from about the Saturday after Thanksgiving to January 1. They also have community choirs perform every night during this time.


You have to have camels and Wise Men.



You also need a star, a stable, and a baby.

Below are a series of photos of some of the decorative lights.
















Below is my personal favorite, with dawn just breaking and the crescent moon rising.



A note on the photographs--These were all taken Dec 12th and 19th, 2009. They were taken with a Sony a100 dslr, tripod mounted, using a cable release. The lens was a Carl Zeiss 16-80mm. By the meter reading these are all significantly underexposed. One of the great things about digital is that you can see a histogram of your exposure and you can see the actual photo on your screen. They are copyright by
The Old Cowboy.

All I Really Need to Know I Learned From Dogs

I have decided that dogs are very smart and are willing to impart their wisdom to us if we will only listen, watch and learn.

---Do your duty, even if it's self imposed.

When our girls were in grade school we had cousins, along with the attendant adults, visit for a long weekend. We shared our home with Buster, an English Springer Spaniel. As indoor sleeping arrangements were somewhat limited we put up the tent in the backyard for a place to sleep for our girls and their cousins. The yard is completely enclosed by a patio wall, and was Buster's domain. The cousins brought a portable VCR complete with monitor that they had used in their van. They took that into the tent and we hooked it up using a long extension cord. After awhile they came in and asked to take the microwave out to the tent so they could make popcorn. We drew the line at that. Buster decided that since they were children and in his domain they obviously needed his protection. All night long he patrolled around the tent and around the backyard, doing his duty to protect the young. He would not go in the tent and by all accounts spent all night on guard. When morning came with light and adults, he relinquished his job, came in the house and slept most of the day. He had done his duty.

---Protect the young.

Me holding Suzie as a pup.

Adult female Boxer. Although not Suzie, she looks very much like Suzie.

My first Boxer was a young female named Suzie. I was about 15 and my brother 6 years old. One day my father and brother were wrestling and my brother squealed. Suzie went over to where they were and started watching intently. Dad noticed this and said to my brother “I'll pretend to hit you and you scream like you've been hurt. Let's see what Suzie will do.” When my brother screamed Suzie clamped her jaws down on my father's forearm without breaking the skin and looked up at him as if to say “That's enough. Knock it off or I'll have to get serious about this.” That ended the wrestling. I said “Try it with me.” We did but Suzie paid no attention to my problem. Obviously I was big enough to take care of myself.

---Show tolerance and patience with idiots but only up to a point.

This dog is a brindle female who looks a lot like Kitty.

The first Boxer I knew was a brindle female named Kitty. Weird name for a big female Boxer dog but that's what it was. Kitty belonged to an aunt and uncle of mine. Their house had a back door that opened onto the driveway. When you opened the back door you could go straight down the stairs to the basement or turn right and go into the kitchen. One day my cousins and I were playing in the driveway with the back door open and Kitty just outside the door keeping an eye on us. A cat came along and started taunting Kitty. The cat paraded back and forth in front of her, swishing her tail, moving toward the door and generally being obnoxious. Eventually Kitty had enough. She took a swipe at the cat with one big front paw, connecting and sending the cat head over heels down the basement stairs. One can and should only tolerate so much.


---Being gorgeous or smart or rich does not guarantee extra privileges.

Buster all gussied up in front of the offended loveseat.
Buster was not allowed on furniture except for one of our daughters' bed and our sons bed. I couldn't even get him to stay on my bed for warmth when I was ill, ala Three Dog Night, because he knew he shouldn't be there. However, one day he had a bath and a hair trim, etc. He was beautiful and he knew it. Now surely he would be allowed on the love seat to properly show off his gorgeousity. Big mistake. His claws caught in the fabric making little pulls of thread pop up. Instead of cover boy for Dog Beautiful Magazine, he instantly became caninis non gratis.

---Don't cut off your nose to spite your face.

Bosco was a big(90#) male Boxer I acquired in medical school. By the time I was an intern I couldn't take care of him so I sent him to my parents. There he had the run of a big back yard and two adults to fuss over him. In the back yard he had a big old cooking pot for water. The birds thought this was a good deal and would come to his pot, sit on the rim, get drinks, etc. This was HIS pot and he resented their using it. He would run over to the pot and “woof” at them to make them move, and then go back to his shady spot and lie down. This went on until Bosco got tired of it, walked over to the pot, deliberately put one paw on the rim and turned it over. That'll show those stinikin' birds who's in charge here! By the time he got into the house again he was plenty thirsty.

Bosco looked very much like the middle dog above.
---If it's too good to be true it probably isn't true.

Bosco was three years old when he came to live with me. He had been loved by a family and been quite well trained. He did not get on the furniture, which was good because I was gone a lot. Or so I thought. I started finding a depression on my bed, with fawn Bosco colored hair in the 90# dog sized hole. I discussed this with him but he denied all knowledge and seemed hurt that I would even think it might be him. Once I picked him up and put him on the bed. He immediately began trembling, jumped off the bed and appeared very upset. A few days later I left for school and forgot something. I had barely gotten to the end of the driveway before I turned around and went back. There was Bosco already on the bed. You have never seen a more embarrassed dog. He leaped off the bed with a horrified expression on his face, all obsequious and begging forgiveness. I swear he said “Boss, I don't know how I got up there! I must have had a seizure or something. You know I would never get on your bed!”Of course it started all over the next day.

I'm sure there are many more stories to illustrate my point. Remember to watch your canine friends and learn some of the best things you need to get through this life relatively intact.

The Old Cowboy's Excellent Adventure

About a year and a half ago the Phoenix area got it's first commuter rail system, an electrically powered light train. The tracks run from Sycamore and Main in west Mesa to North Phoenix(Montebello), a distance of 20 some miles. There is a big park and ride lot at Main and Sycamore, which is 10-15 minutes from our house. Since it opened we have been riding the train routinely for things that are on or near the line, such as the opera (Symphony Hall is ½ block from the train stop), Phoenix Art Museum, ½ block, meetings I have to attend with the state Medicaid agency, etc. The Diamondbacks ballpark and the Suns arena are also right on the line. This is vastly easier than driving with the attendant traffic and parking hassles. If anyone cares the Sun Dummies (or Scum Devils if you prefer) campus, football and basketball arenas are also right on the line. There is also a stop with a bus connection that runs non-stop to the terminals at Sky Harbor Airport. Way cool if you don't have much luggage. A fun sight along the route is the Tovrea Mansion, built by an Arizona cattle baron a number of years ago. The City of Phoenix now owns it and is supposedly renovating it to make it available to the public. I say supposedly because this has been going on for years with little sign of progress.

All of this lead me to wonder if I could some how ride the train and bus to work. In the central Phoenix area the train runs north and south on Central Avenue. My office is in a state office building on 18th Avenue, 18 blocks west of Central, one block south of Van Buren.. I determined that I could ride the train to the Central Station at Central and Van Buren and then catch a bus on Van Buren that runs west well beyond where I need to go. The bus stops every other block, which means I could get off at 17th or 19th Avenue and walk a block to my office. The bus runs about every 15 minutes and the train about every 11-12 minutes, so I might have a short wait at the connecting point or the bus stop, but probably not too long, except in the heat of summer. Then any wait is too long.


One day while my wife was out of town I decided to ride the rails to work. On the way home I planned to stop at the Phoenix Art Museum to see an Ansel Adams exhibit, then stop at Cafe Istanbul for dinner before coming home. What follows is a blow by blow account of my excellent adventure.

The folks who ride the train are pretty ordinary: a lot of students, ASU, community college, and various other schools, business men and women, people out for a lark, etc .I quickly discovered the first time I rode the bus, that the Van Buren bus denizens are another lot altogether. All I ever carry is my lunch bag. I don' t wear anything flashy and sit right behind the driver if possible.

I drove to the Sycamore and Main park and ride lot in time to catch the 0730 train.


I walked to the station and got my pass validated.


As I was getting on, the train driver got off and we had our picture taken together.


I took a seat up high facing forward at the back of the car, where I like to ride.


Shortly thereafter the train pulled out, soon putting Mesa behind and crossing into Tempe. We went through the ASU campus, passing the basketball arena and Scum Devil stadium.



We passed out of Tempe and came to the Tovrea Mansion on Washington Street in east Phoenix.


By the time we got to Central and turned north a Black man was sitting by me. A few stops before Van Buren a man got on after making some sort of verbal commotion before boarding. One or two stops later he stood up, stopped in front of the Black man and said “Has anyone told you yet this morning that you're beautiful? I hope I'm not the first.” He then got off the train. The beautiful Black man was still laughing when I got off at the next stop.

There were six or eight people waiting for the Van Buren bus at the Central Station.

They seemed to recognize each other. Someone asked a young woman in the group about her cat. She got all excited and said she had delivered a litter of kitties. A guy asked if he could see them and take one. She said sure and gave him a phone number. Then the bus came and we all got on.

The bus was crowded but I managed to find a seat next to a man, probably in his late forties, who was covered with a lovely set of tattoos. As the bus started up, a guy spoke up and said “Where'd you get them tats? You been in the joint?” Tattooed man replied “ I just got out 10 days ago. I was in Perryville, Buckeye, Florence and I think every other prison in Arizona.” “What were you in for?” “I did 10 years for burglary, possession of burglary tools and possession of meth.” Tattooed man then got off at the next stop. I did a mental inventory of all I had brought on the bus; everything seemed to be still with me.

Then a young guy who had gotten on the same time I did started talking to someone sitting by him. I could hear him, but not the guy to whom he was talking. “They've got me on conspiracy charges. I was working with this guy to get money from some people. They've got cell phone records, conversations and stuff.” We came to my stop and I got off. The bus pulled away and I physically checked all my belongings. Everything was still there—wallet, watch, cell phone, coins, pen, lunch bag, underwear, outer clothes, shoes and socks. UA hat.

I can see the bus stop on the south side of Van Buren from my office window. This is for east bound buses and where I catch the bus to begin my journey home. If I look out and see a bus at the stop, I know I have 10 to 15 minutes to be down to the stop to catch the next one.

I saw a bus at the stop, got myself together and walked over to it. A Navajo man was sitting on the bench. “Sit down,” he said. I sat down. He said “I build skyscrapers but I don't have a job right now.” “Are you an iron worker?” I asked.“Yes,” he said. He said “I think I'll go back to Fort Defiance, too many fights over there,” pointing vaguely south. Then he looked at me a little closer. “Were you in the war?' he asked. “Yes,” I said. He immediately put out his hand and shook mine vigorously. “Thank you!,” he said, “we owe you and the others like you a lot of gratitude. Thank you!” I was stunned. I was on active duty during the Vietnam War, although I never saw any combat. From the day I was discharged until this day, no one had ever said so much as thanks or expressed gratitude in any way. About then the bus came along and I got on. My new Navajo friend remained sitting on the bench. I wonder where he was going and where he is now. I hope he is at peace.

There must be a program for the blind west of my stop because when I got on there were four or five blind people already on the bus and the bus driver was obviously familiar with them. The next stop east of mine a man got on with long dirty hair and beard, raggedy, dirty clothes and a look about him of homelessness or mental illness. He stood by the driver fumbling through his pockets looking for money to pay his fare. The bus driver closed the door and drove on. He stood there a bit more and then sat down. Even the bureaucracy sometimes has a heart.

I caught the train at Central and rode to the Phoenix Art Museum to see the Ansel Adams exhibit.



I spent a couple of hours there in some sort of photographer's paradise. I remember the first time I ever saw an original Adams print—I was awestruck and dumbfounded. Although I have seen many since, they never cease to amaze me.

After feasting on the exhibit I caught the train, passing the Suns arena

and the Diamondbacks ballpark,


stopping across the street from Cafe Istanbul.


I had a wonderful Middle Eastern dinner, caught the train to Sycamore and Main, found my car and went home.

An excellent adventure for an old cowboy.