There are a series of photos from the late 19th century which depict a large number of men, women and children diving, swimming and generally having fun at a local gathering place in central Florida called, "Kissengen Springs."
While it has been claimed that this wonderful aquatic retreat dried up about 1950, I vividly recall swimming there as a child of seven or eight; (which would have been about 1956 or 1957).
Be that as it may, my mother shared a story of how that she, and daddy, and several of my aunts and uncles once took it on themselves to visit that place a year or two after the gate was locked for the last time.
It seems they loaded up in one car and drove over to the former attraction, parked the vehicle in an out of the way place, dismounted the automobile, ducked beneath the barbed wire fence, and walked a couple hundred yards which separated them from their quest.
At this writing I cannot begin to tell you whether there was enough water in the spring to swim in, nor whether, indeed, the flow was intact. But I found my mother's tale quite compelling, and it has remained fresh in my mind.
Pt. 1
Several years ago, my wife and I made a trip to see my daughters in, respectively, West Virginia and Kentucky.
Little did I know at the time of our departure that it would be a
very ‘touching’ vacation.
As a retired soldier, Jean and I often check into military lodging
facilities when we are out of state, and as she and I reached the Ft. Knox area
one late evening, and rolled through the gate, we sought out the base hotel.
While there we commuted to Kimberly’s house a couple times, and toured the
General George Patton Museum on base; a stone’s throw from the infamous gold
repository.
One of the initial exhibits in the relatively small building is
General Patton’s staff car; the very automobile in which he was mortally
injured in a two vehicle accident; while serving as the post WWII military
commandant of occupied Germany.
And while the car was surrounded by a rope rectangle, and
obviously “out of bounds,” I took it on myself to stretch out my right arm, and
touch the left fender of the impressive military sedan. And while at this
juncture, I cannot tell you whether I had any concern that I might be monitored
on a surveillance camera, “come hell or high water,” I simply would not be
denied.
Pt. 2
As my wife and I continued our tour of the General George Patton
museum, we happened upon another exhibit which tweaked my interest. The Persian
Gulf War surrender table. You know the one behind which sat General Norman
Schwarzkopf and his Iraqi counterpart, and on which the surrender document was
signed.
And while I cannot begin to tell you what the Persian Gulf War has
in common with General Patton, nor why it was housed in ‘his’ museum, as a
connoisseur of military history I was glad to happen up on it. Once again, the
urge to touch the untouchable overwhelmed my sensibilities. Oblivious to any
hidden cameras, I gently laid my hand upon that non-descript little table, and
was glad for it.
After having spent a couple days in Kentucky and West Virginia,
and having enjoyed our visit thoroughly, it was time for my wife and I to
retrace our path, and return from whence we came.
As we navigated the few states which separated us from our quest,
I decided we would stop off at Warner-Robbins Air Force Base in Georgia, spend
the night, and tour their, (you guessed it) base museum. And given the nature
of this military facility, you would be right to expect that the museum was
populated by U.S. Air Force aircraft.
Pt. 3
My friends, I can assure you one aircraft, in particular, deserved
my full attention.
The SR-71 “Blackbird” spy plane has always been my most favorite
of military aircraft, and suddenly I was “tete a tete” with the awesome thing
which I had so long time admired.
Did I mention the now defunct SR-71
achieved the highest attitude, at 85,000 feet, ever attained in sustained
flight? (Well, it did).
Did I mention the SR-71 was the
fastest aircraft in the history of aeronautics? (Well, it was). It was capable
of reaching a (published) speed of over 2,000 mph. Any additional capability in
terms of velocity remains a military secret to this day.
What was especially interesting to me
was the fact that this particular airplane in ‘whose’ presence I stood held the
Los Angeles to Washington D.C. speed record at a hair over one hour elapsed
time.
Speaking of ‘time,’ this time around
there was no barrier to my extended hand. No rope, no chains, no nada. As a
result, I extended my arm above my head, and touched the leading edge of the
right wing.
As “Jane Eyre” of the Victorian novel
by the same title might have said,
“I was glad of it.”
Pt. 4
There have been other vacations in
which I broke the proverbial, well, the literal rules.
A full thirty years ago, Jean and I
visited Yosemite National Park in California. I can tell you I was not prepared
for the abject magnificence of the Sequoia trees in the Mariposa Grove there.
And while I don’t recall seeing any
signs reading:
“No tree huggers allowed”
(or)
“Do not stand on the massive trunks
(of these lovely old trees… under penalty of death),”
I think it goes without saying that no
good park ranger in his or her own right would sit by idly, and watch a tourist
clamor all over the trunk of one of these magnificent creations.
Every time I look at the photograph, I
cringe to think I may have subtracted all of twenty-three minutes of life from the
tree upon which I so proudly stood.
I just posted a copy of the picture on
my social media page. I’m standing about ten feet up the trunk on what amounts
to a ledge. And while only about half the width of the tree is visible, it’s
obvious what a massive living structure it is.
Now, I’ve been around some pretty
‘humongous’ trees, but they were just seedlings in comparison to this ancient
iron age giant. I have tried to visualize just how massive the girth, how tall
the height, and how weighty the weight of the largest specimen of them all; the
General Sherman tree.
The circumference? Surround it with a
metal tape measure, stand it straight up, and you could lay it against a ten
story building.
The height? With the same tape
measure, delineate the distance between the starting and finish lines of a
hundred yard dash, and you almost have it.
The weight? Given the average weight
of an American automobile, the equivalent of 600 cars, or 2 million+ pounds.
And in spite of the girth, height and
weight of this ancient behemoth, the Sequoia is a threatened species, and, can
there be any doubt, whatever, that the intrusion of that young little fool from
Central Florida was unbidden and unnecessary and unwelcome?
Pt. 5
Then there was what my wife and I
referred to as our Civil War vacation.
We drove to various areas along the
East Coast of the United States, and visited such Civil War locations and
battlefields as: Andersonville Prison in Georgia, Cold Harbor Battlefield in
Virginia, Gettysburg Battlefield in Pennsylvania, the Wilmer McLean House in
Appomattox, Virginia, and Antietam Battlefield in Maryland.
Speaking of the latter of the
locations in the list,
What can I say? I plead guilty as
charged. (Well, as never yet charged).
It was a simple farm lane, the width
of a hay wagon, and once referred to as The Sunken Road. It ran alongside a
wood rail fence, but in the course of a few hours gained notoriety as the
location in which almost 6,000 Confederate and Union troops fell; as the result
of cannon fire, and close order combat.
No longer would the little lane be
called, The Sunken Road, but rather, Bloody Lane. It has been said that the
blood flowed along the bottom of the lane like water flows in a creek.
Fast forward a century and a half, and
a couple of Civil War vacationers had seen everything else there was to see at
Antietam National Battlefield, and turned left on a somewhat sunken,
non-descript, grassy lane, and aimed our vehicle towards the crest of a hill.
It was then that we saw a Civil War
monument, and some verbiage which helped us “get our bearings.”
Bloody Lane. September 17, 1862
Let’s all say it together, boys and
girls
Uh-Oh!!!
Afterward
Did I mention, it was quite a
“touching” and “trespassing” series of vacations? (Well, they were).
Yes, I can
tell you it was a momentary treat for me to trespass in places I had no business
trespassing, and to touch relics I had no business touching.
To be sure,
I was altogether aware of my abject stupidity when I clamored up the side of
the massive Sequoia, whereas, my “Sunday drive” across the ghostly bodies of
Civil War dead represented an innocent twist of the steering wheel.
And,
whereas, the first and second of the three historical relics were clearly
labeled, ‘untouchable,’ the third bore no label, and I had every reason to
believe it was kosher to give it a little pat.
It was then,
to be fair, a mixed bag of sorts.
Had I the
opportunity to do it all again, would I do anything differently?
To be
perfectly honest,
…I would have walked, and not driven the Bloody Lane.
By William McDonald, PhD. From (Mc)Donald's Daily Diary. Vol. 81. Copyright pending
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