Pompeii With Two Eyes

I like ruins.  You know, the leftovers from what once was something. I have a particular affinity for the ruins  of cities.  They always pique my curiosity and imagination. One such city is Pompeii in southern Italy. It is now a World Heritage Site with 2.6 million visitors per year. Recently we visited it.

The train from Sorrento was crowded, but not as crowded as the previous day's five o'clock train from Naples to Sorrento.   Pompeii is one of the many stops between Sorrento and Naples. The entrance to the attraction was also very crowded, but we bought our tickets and followed the crowds through the gates of the city. Pompeii was a Roman city of the first century A.D. with some 20,000 residents. The city had a gymnasium, two theaters, laundries, restaurants, a mill, an amphitheater, and the usual shops and dwellings. While there are a number of Roman cities which exist as ruins Pompeii is unique. The city was buried under the volcanic ash of Mount Vesuvius in 79 A.D. The ash from Vesuvius simply covered the city, snuffing out all life. Because of the method of destruction some unique features are displayed. For example, all life buried by ash decomposed over time leaving a negative image or recess in the solidified ash. That fact made it possible to fill these voids with plaster and create an exact image of the living thing whether man or beast. It is eerie looking at them and realizing that these are the exact plaster replicas of the living on that fateful day in 79 A.D. Pompeii was a large city with all the infrastructure of modern cities. The paved streets have stepping stones across them so pedestrians would not have to step on the waste water and sewage in the streets. The city's water was supplied by viaduct and distributed via lead pipes.  I wonder about the instances of lead poisoning with lead pipes.  The distribution system insured that critical needs were met first when the water supply was low. There is a great display of Roman plumbing systems at the museum at Pont du Gard, France.  Another fascinating thing was the shops for selling food on the street. The counter tops had recessed cut-outs for cooking pots.  There are very few buildings with roofs in the ruins of Pompeii, but the public bath has a roof. In many ways the procedure at the baths is similar to Japanese style.  The pool of hot water is not for bathing but for soaking. These waters were usually heavily laden with minerals. The bath in Pompeii is in a vaulted structure lavishly decorated. There are several rooms for bathing, changing clothes, and soaking. I did not see the facility for heating the water, but it may have been heated geothermally like the bath waters in Bath, England. All

structures in the ruins have numbers which correspond to captions on the map you get at the entrance. There are temples to various gods and a forum for the local government. Several private homes, or rather what is left of them, depict the architecture of the era. It seemed that each had a formal entryway leading to a courtyard with various rooms around the perimeter. On many the ancient frescoes still adorned the walls. There were storage rooms, rooms for preparing food, and dining rooms. One thing noticeably absent was a toilet. I'm sure there were public toilets available in the city.  We have seen Roman toilets in Vaison de la Romaine, France and Ephesus, Turkey.  Mosaics were the common decoration along with frescos.  In the house of the Faun there is a mosaic of the Battle of Issus which was between Alexander the Great and Darius, King of Persia.  This large work of art is on the floor and measures almost nine feet by seventeen feet. This particular house even had a private bath indicating the wealth of its owner.

We ventured along  the ancient street and stopped in front of a house that had a large number of female tourists peering inside. I heard some feminine giggles.

"I wonder what's that's about?" I said.

"I'll get closer," said Claudette as she made her war way through the group of women four deep. "You won't believe this!" she exclaimed.

I managed to get through the crowd as it dispersed and joined her at the rail which prohibited entry into the ruins of the house. She was right. I would not have believed it if I hadn't seen it. In the foyer of the house was a wall painting which measured about two feet in height.  It was of a man  in period dress. Visible below the hem of his short robe was his large penis.

"Can you believe that?" she asked.

"Somebody had an active imagination!" I said.

"Or did they?"she added with wink.

"It's about fertility rites, or so it says in the guide book," I said in an effort to have the last word.
Actually, paintings considered pornographic by some were fairly common in the city.

The most fascinating building for me was the mill and bakery. In industrial parlance it would be referred to as vertical integration.  Grain, probably wheat, was ground into flour and then baked into bread at the some location. The millstones were different from anything I had seen before. I was familiar with the flat round mill stones. Grain is introduced between the two stones. One of the stones is stationary, while the other moves. As the grain moves from the center of the stone to the outer edge it is ground into flour.

Falling water is the most common source of power.  But these grindstones were conical, with the stationary stone fitting inside another stone thereby creating the grinding surface. The power source was either human or animal. At this location in Pompeii there were four grinding and milling stone installations.  Due to the location I believe they were operated by human power, probably slave labor. This was the first mill I had seen, although I had seen other Roman mill stones before.

Another interesting fact I discovered was the construction methods of columns. There were columns carved from a solid piece of stone. (The most valuable were those carved from the purple marble of Egypt.) The most common were the brick columns covered with  a mixture of marble dust and plaster. Some were carved from sections of marble and stacked on top of each other. Others were constructed from a custom molded brick which produced a fluted column. The Romans were very ingenious engineers which is witnessed by the longevity of some of their structures.

It was a beautiful sunny day in southern Italy as we wandered around the ruins.  We were listening to walking tours narrated by Rick Steves we had downloaded to our cell phones.  This

was very helpful and informative. However, portions of the site are frequently closed for additional archaeological exploration or repairs. Although many of the relics are in the museum in Naples there is still plenty to see in this large World Heritage Site. We opted not to see the amphitheater.  We had seen several of them elsewhere.

It was a good day at the ruins of Pompeii, but sometimes it was difficult walking on the stone streets where Vesuvius loomed. We took the train back to Sorrento where we enjoyed a great evening meal.

Note: The modern city of Pompeii is spelled Pompei.

Florence, not of the Pee Dee.

Outside Hotel Lorena, Florence.

Of all the cities in Italy, I prefer Florence. I'm not exactly sure of the reason. However, I can relate our recent visit there. It was after dark when we made our way from the train station along unfamiliar streets to our hotel. We had been on trains most of the day. We had left Venice in the early morning and got off in Rimini to visit the mountain-top country of San Marino. From Rimini we traveled to Bologna and changed trains to get to Florence. In the evening there were hundreds of vendors set up on a piazza enroute to our hotel. Each vendor occupied about a ten square foot area with a mobile structure and display racks of merchandise. This included leather goods, textiles, ceramics, and various bric-a-brac, much of it intended for the tourist. Several vendors were helpful in directing us to the street we needed to find.

Hotel Lorena, like many in Europe, was on the second floor with the ground level, or first floor, occupied by shops and restaurants. Incidentally, the second floor is referred to as the first floor, while the ground floor has no number designation. There was an elevator, but we did not find it initially. Soon we had unpacked.  Our room overlooked the street, Piazza di Madonna degli Aldobrandini, and the Medici Chapel. After a quick chat with the desk clerk we ventured into the street to find some food and explore a bit. We were surprised that the vendors were packing up and moving their mobile shops  from the piazza. Soon the piazza was filled with people walking about enjoying the warm Italian evening. We got a quick bite of food and found a gelato shop near by. There was not much exploring because we were tired and wanted to turn in early.  Back in our hotel the closed shutters and windows muffled the street noise and music of the wandering accordion player allowing for a good nights sleep. The shared bath was always empty.

Breakfast at the hotel was the usual continental style, with cappuccino of course. Claudette and I were the only non-Asians in the breakfast area except for the server. I believe they were Chinese. I'm not very adept at determining the nationalities of Asians, but I'm getting better. One of the attractions we wanted to see in the city was Michelangelo's David. The sculptor was only twenty-

In the Medici palace.

six years old when he carved the seventeen foot tall statue of the Biblical hero from Carrara marble. Michelangelo (1465-1574) considered himself a resident of Florence and the ruling family, the Medici, were his patrons. There was a long line at the entrance to the Accademia Gallery, but it moved quickly.  No photos were allowed. As you enter the main salon David is at the end in its place of honor. It is impressive. On either side of the gallery leading up to the Michelangelo masterpiece are the "Prisoners". These are statues or figures in their rough incomplete stage.  Michelangelo is reported to have said that the image was inherent in the stone and that he simply released it.  The "Prisoners" illustrate this, as they seem to emerge from the stone. Housed in the same gallery is also a collection of musical instruments and other works of art.

After leaving the Accademia Gallery we found the Medici Palace on Via del Pucci. It is now called Palazzo Medici Riccardi, because the Riccardi family once owned it. We wandered the halls of the Medici Palace.  Yes, it was posh; not exactly Versailles, but then... there is only one Versailles. Fortunately, there were very few tourists. There were great rooms with many tapestries, and the customary vaulted ceilings were highly decorated. I particularly liked the Luca Giordano Hall. In addition to a beautifully painted vaulted ceiling, the mirrored walls were painted as well.  The Medici practically invented the banking industry. As great patrons of the arts they left their mark on the city of Florence.

The Doors of Paradise.

You could see your reflection between cherubs and such. The effect was awesome.  This was the home of Lorenzo the Magnificent; yes, the same one depicted in the television series, da Vinci's Demons.

Jaywalking Not Allowed

"€80,"  said the man in the flat brimmed straw hat with the striped shirt.

We were standing by one of the lesser known canals of Venice. I had done a few sketches as a gondola was tied up close by.  Claudette and I had talked about a gondola ride but thought it too expensive. I decided to see if I could get a better price.

"How about €70?" I asked.

"Eighty!" he said adamantly.

"Okay, okay, seventy-five," I said begrudgingly.

"Eighty."

"Seventy-five or nothing!"

"...seventy-five," he finally said.

I looked at Claudette.  I could see the calculator working in her head. Yes, it was a lot of money.

"It's Venice,  We'll probably never be here again," I said almost apologetically.

"You're right, we'll never have this chance again," she relented.

The gondolier helped us board his thirty-eight foot watercraft. All gondolas are black and usually have red upholstered seating much like the chairs or loveseat you would have in your living room.

The flat-bottomed boats are rather stable and actually designed to be rowed with one oar from the right side. A gondola can take six passengers for the standard fee.  Sharing is an easy way to cut the cost. However, that was not for us.

The oarsman, or gondolier, expertly maneuvered the boat into the narrow canal. Within minutes we were going under the first bridge. Tourists looked down at us and waved. There are over 400 bridges in the city. The canal we move silently down is not as wide as the gondola is long.  Although in some places there are sidewalks, many canals have nothing except the vertical masonry walls of buildings. The sky becomes a ribbon of cerulean blue outlined by the jagged rooftops. Our gondolier occasionally muttered something in a language resembling English. We thought he was describing landmarks but we didn't care. We were in the "City of Romance", in a gondola, with each other.

As we floated along the narrow ribbon of water we saw a  man and woman sitting on a window ledge three stories up with wine glasses in hand waving to us. After zig-zagging along several canals, the streets of the city, we were on the Grand Canal which runs the length of the city. Unlike the small canals we had been on this one was bustling with activity. Gondolas were in the minority of watercraft. There were vaporetti, water taxis, gondolas, and boats carrying cargo. Nothing moves throughout the city but by water. There are no wheeled vehicles. It was noisy on the Grand Canal, and the acrid odor of diesel exhaust irritated our noses. After passing under the Rialto Bridge we went back into a quiet canal, under many more bridges, and past entrances to restaurants and shops before returning to the place of our voyage's origin. It had been delightful. And, yes, at such an expensive price, I would do it again.

After returning to terra firma, or solid ground, which may be a misnomer in Venice, we wandered the narrow alleys window shopping.  Shops have everything, including clothing, leather goods, jewelry, and virtually anything else you would want. A very popular item are carnival masks. Most are made of paper mache, and many are quite elaborate. These shop windows frequently exhibit the "No Photos" sign. Could they be of copyrighted designs, or is there some other reason to disallow photos? Fortunately, we did find an uncrowded cafe for  cappuccino.   All these tiny alleyways near the Grand Canal were crowded with visitors.

Piazza San Marco is one of the most popular attractions in the city. Saint Mark's basilica is one of

the most popular in Italy, and for that reason there is always a long line for admission. We looked at the statues of the four horses above the entrance and I told Claudette about them. "Those are copies of the originals," I said.

"Where are the originals? she asked.

"It's a rather interesting story," I said, as I began my explanation. "When the Venetians ruled the waves, so to speak, or rather the Adriatic Sea and the eastern Mediterranean, they brought back the horses from Constantinople. The four bronze horses are thought to be Greek. Remember the Hippodrome in Istanbul? We were there last year.  That's where the horses were.  When Napoleon conquered Venice he took the horses to Paris. Later they were returned to St. Mark's, but those aren't the real ones," I was enjoying telling the story.

"They look real to me," she said.

"They're copies.  They discovered that air pollution  was deteriorating the bronze and moved them to the museum and made these copies," I said.

"That's quite a story, she said.

"Yep!"

We entered the basilica, passing through security where a guard searched hand bags.  There was a large sign stating that backpacks were not allowed.  It amazed me to see some people grumble and complain when the guards turned them away. Did they expect the rules to be changed for them? This cathedral is probably the best example of the Byzantine architectural influence in Italy. The vast use of mosaics is obvious. We were reminded of Hagia Sophia in Istanbul. The floors are inlaid marble, and all walls are covered with polychrome religious images. It was beautiful; but, quite frankly, I think I've seen about enough fancy churches. After a while, the architecture and art seem to get repetitious.  However, Piazza San Marco and Saint Mark's Basilica are a "must see" in Venice.

After leaving the piazza we thought we would like to see the island of Morano, famous for its blown glass manufacturing. We decided to walk to a vaporetti stop opposite the Grand Canal on the Venetian lagoon. It was an interesting walk along the back canals as opposed to backstreets. We stopped at a small shop and bought an apple each. All produce is priced by the kilogram and sold by weight. The narrow sidewalks were deserted as we ventured far from tourist attractions. Here we found small piazzas call campis.  Colorful laundry hung overhead to dry. Students were hanging out at the University of Venice. Eventually we made our way to the vaporetti stop and boarded it for Morano, 1.5 kilometers away. We passed the cemetery island on the way and were soon at the pier of Morano.

The first thing you see is shops selling ornamental glass. Virtually anything you can imagine is crafted in glass. We entered one of the showrooms. (I thought the factory was in the back of the showroom.) There was a beautiful display of ornamental glass.  We noticed well dressed men in business suits sort of "attaching themselves" to customers and ushering them to a waiting boat. It wasn't hard to figure out what was going on. Customers would be transported to the factory for a glassblowing demonstration and then the salesmen would put the pressure on to buy.  Needless to say, that wasn't our cup of tea, and we just continued to window shop. One thing we found were some beautiful meringue puffs in a bakery shop window. We bought two and consumed them with an €,80 bottle of water. This was quite cheap.  We've found in Europe that the farther you are from a tourist attraction the cheaper the bottled water.  In Venice the price range seemed to be between €,80 and €4. Morano is a city of canals as well, and we strolled along window shopping. We had some lunch at a waterfront cafe. I had lasagna and Claudette tried the gnocchi. In Italy  the food is vaguely similar to its American counterpart. We were back in Venice and at Piazza San Marco by twilight time.

The piazza at night is almost a magical place. People peer into shop windows at jewelry, clothing, leather goods, and the ever-present masks.  The brilliantly decorated masks, some non-human appearing, stare back sans eyes. The crowds move slowly.  It seems that all people are represented

here.  The young; hugging, touching, kissing, and the older; many reliving their youth. We walked slowly absorbing the ambiance. We heard the sound of a piano accompanied by a cello. The musicians played under a canopy surrounded by tables decked with white tablecloths and flickering candles. On the opposite of the piazza another band was playing slow jazz with a lot of brass.  Children chased each other in the waning light, and Pakistani peddlers threw baseball-like objects into the night sky where they would glow in multi-colors before returning to earth. We found a bench from which to people watch for a bit.

We caught the Number 1 vaporetti back to the island of Lido and our hotel. Of course there was that stop at the gelato stand for a cool treat. Gelato, like hotel rooms, is less expensive on Lido.

It had been a good day, and we were ready for a good night's sleep. Fortunately, the singer at the bar down below had a good voice. I guess it's good to fall asleep with a crescent moon beaming through the window and the sound a singer accompanied by a guitar wafting through the night.

We slept late.  Eight o'clock is late for us. We had breakfast at the hotel, brioche and cappuccino. Breakfast was included with  the price of the room.  I was excited about visiting the Italian Naval Museum. My wife is fortunate to get to visit many aircraft, automotive, naval, and technology museums. But then, I get to see a lot of Shakespeare and such. Museo Storico Navale is located in Campo St. Biagio in  a building that was once a grainery. The museum was created after WWI and is near the Arsenale, the famous Venetian shipyard. In the forty-two rooms on the three floors of the museum Italian naval history is represented. Venice controlled the eastern Mediterranean and Adriatic sea and at one time had over 3000 ships and a shipyard that could produce one ship per day! There are  literally hundreds of ship models representing watercraft through the centuries. Cannon are there from the earliest to WWII vintage. A ship requiring 130 oarsmen is represented in model form. But the two-man submarine from WWII is an original. There 

is one room dedicated to the vessel most often associated with Venice, the gondola. I could have stayed in the museum all day. It takes a bit longer when you have to translate display captions. The museum is quite similar to the Spanish Naval Museum in Madrid. Both are owned by the respective navies.

We walked the city the rest of the day and took a cruise on the Grand Canal at night. Many of the buildings are illuminated at night. It was a warm night, and we sat back on the fantail of the boat.

It was a good visit to Venice.  Like other attractions it was crowded with tourists, even in the "off" season.  But I had seen Piazza San Marco and the basilica and taken a gondola ride with a woman who puts up with all my eccentricities.

Milano

When you take the subway from Milan's train station, Milano Centrale, to Piazza Duomo prepare yourself for an  architectural delight. Entering the piazza from the Metro you'll be looking directly at Duomo di Milano, Milan's cathedral.  Piazza Duomo is the center of the city; all streets radiate from this central location. It was drizzling rain when we emerged, but we had reached our destination: Italy.  We would be on the peninsula for seventeen days.  Why not begin in the industrialized north, in Milano, the symbol of that industry? It is the second largest city in the country, with a population of over eight million, and is the center of commerce and  industry.

We had directions to our hotel. Unfortunately, rarely is there any standardized street signage in Italy. Building numbers aren't necessarily sequential, and sometimes street names change when they pass through an intersection. Also, streets and plazas will have the same name but will be preceded by either "piazza" or "via". These factors, coupled with the usual language problems, made finding our hotel, which was "an easy walk from the Metro", less than simple. But, we found it on a narrow street probably twelve feet wide including the pedestrian lanes.  The hotel door was flush with the street so that from the door of the hotel you were only one step from oncoming traffic. (I'm not being critical of Italian cities.  If it works for them, so be it!) Our other misfortune was that we had left our itinerary at home, along with our hotel and train reservations, and our Eurail passes. Claudette had made a frantic call from New York for a neighbor to FedEx them to us. It was an angst creating event. We settled into our room and then went out for pizza and to explore.

The Duomo di Milano is the second largest church in Italy and the fifth largest in the European Union. The piazza was brimming with tourists; tourists taking pictures, tourists staring up at the facade, tourists gawking, tourists appearing lost, and we were a part of it all. It truly is an awesome structure, perhaps due to its French architects. With multiple spires, its dome is not obvious like most Italian cathedrals.  We entered the nave.  The church is cruciform. Many churches are cross-shaped. The huge columns are eighty feet tall. It is, as all cathedrals, filled with gilded statues and ornamental artwork. The body of some cardinal long since deceased lies in a glass enclosure, and candles lit by worshipers illuminate the darkness. In the apse we saw a small red light high on the wall.  According to the walking tour we were listening to on our smartphones the light marks the storage spot for one of the nails used  on the cross of Christ's crucifixion. This spectacular cathedral took six hundred years to complete.  The American writer, Mark Twain, was quite enamored with it.

Close by the Duomo is the Galleria Vittorio Emanuele II, a truly unique shopping mall.  It's cruciform as well, with walls over one hundred fifty feet tall and an iron and glass vaulted roof. Construction began in 1864.  The architect,  Giuseppe Mengoni, unfortunately fell to his death from the scaffolding a year prior to the completion of the galleria. It was virtually destroyed by bombing in WWII but now houses the creme de la creme of shops following its restoration. Here you will find Prada, Gucci, Armani, Versace, and many more. It is the land of big bucks shopping, or rather big euros shopping. The floor is of beautifully inlaid marble. After a little window shopping we noticed a crowd gathered in one part of the galleria. In the center of the crowd we saw a young man spinning around on his heel. Claudette grabbed my elbow as we navigated through the crowd for a closer look. "I know what it is," she said.

"Oh, yeah?" I answered.

"He is spinning around with his heel on the Bull of Turin for good luck," she said with that thrill she gets from telling me about something I don't know.

"So what's the Bull of Turin?" I asked.

"In this galleria are the coat of arms of four cities, and Turin is one," she said then added, "and the one with the bull is Turin! By the way, you must put your foot on the bull's testicles for luck!"

"I'll bet PETA hasn't heard about that!" I knew I had to take a spin. I waited my turn and placed my heel on that most sensitive part of the male anatomy and began to turn around. I took a couple of turns and started to walk away when an Italian woman yelled at me. 

"Si deve girare intomo tre volte! Si deve girare intomo tre volte!

Somebody in the crowd yelled, "She said you must turn around three times."

And so I did. And then Claudette did her spin also. We have been waiting for the good luck. 

The next morning, upon awakening, I looked out our window to see a FedEx truck in the street; yes, our itinerary,  Eurail passes, and travel documents had arrived from the Creek. So maybe there was something to that spinning around on the bull. After breakfast of brioche, yogurt, and cappuccino we were on our way to see more of the second largest city in Italy. 

The Museo della Scienza e della Tecnologia Leonardo da Vinci is not easy to find. We rode the Metro to get to that area of the city where the museum was located. Once again we were befuddled by the Italian system of numbering buildings. There was very little signage for this large museum. The lines were short. I knew once I saw the huge steam engine linked to an electric generator that I was in the right place.  We climbed a stairway to a second level where there were display scale models of many of Leonardo da Vinci's machines. They were large exquisite models.  Many had the inventor's drawing displayed nearby.  The most complicated piece was the powered loom.  Noticeably missing was the multi-barreled cannon and battle tank. Throughout this part of the museum there were many displays of scientific discovery and technological advancements from radio to computer.  There are classrooms for structured learning as well.

There are other buildings in this museum complex which was once a monastery. In the train building, which has a roof like a train station, there are steam engines and street and trolley cars.

Next door is and even larger building housing a ship. Yes, a ship, a schooner, with masts reaching the ceiling. There is a two-man submarine and airplanes and a helicopter. One particular airplane I had not seen before was an early British jet design built by the Italians in 1950.   The building also houses the bridge of an Italian ocean liner. Outside this building are three jet fighter planes, two built under U.S. license and the other Italian, a Fiat, from the 1950's. Also outside is an Italian submarine. Viewing the inside of the submarine requires an additional ticket. We've seen a number of submarines so not seeing the interior of this one was not a big deal. 

Or next attraction to visit was Milan's castle. We like castles. Castello Sforzesco is Milan's 14th century castle built for defense. Today it houses several museums and an armory. Entering the castle is free, but a ticket is required for the museums.  We chose to buy a ticket for the museums, with our primary objective being Michelangelo's last masterpiece. But, it was not to be.  That exhibit was closed.  However, such things are not uncommon. We were disappointed, but there are several good museums within the castle walls.  A musical instrument museum and a decorative arts museum are beautiful and informative. There is also a display of tapestries. It seems to have been a common practice to design the tapestry in Italy but have it manufactured in Flanders. Of course my favorite part of the castle was the armory.  There is a good collection of arms and armor from the spear to primitive firearms. I thought it was interesting to note that as weapons improved, body armor decreased. It is a good collection, not on par with the armory in the palace in Madrid, but still quite good. 

On our way back to our hotel we looked at some ruins  of the Romans. We had dinner our last night in a restaurant near the hotel. It was great. Food is expensive in Italy. You order by courses. Each course will be from eight euros up. But the food is outstanding.  After dinner we decided to get a gelato. I was pessimistic about gelato.  I had been told how great it was so many times, I had convinced myself that it could not be better than ice cream.  How could anything with less butter fat be better?  I don't know how they do it, but they do. It is better! We were only a few blocks from Piazza di Duomo. The streets were wet from a light rain, and lights presented a symphony of reflected color. It was great walking along, window shopping, people watching, and munching a caffe gelato with your best girl.  Life is good.

The next morning we caught our train to Venice. 

Escape from Lido

"Is it four o'clock already?" I asked groggily as the phone rang.

"Sure is," she said, removing the receiver from the phone, " We have an early train to catch."

I dragged myself out of bed and glanced out the open window noting the deserted street below.

We we in the Hotel Cristallo Venezia  on the Island of Lido, about fifteen minutes across the water from Venice's Grand Canal. Lido is a natural island, unlike Venice, and has a beach, airport, and wheeled vehicles. It also forms a barrier from the Adriatic Sea. We had spent a delightful few days in Venice, but we had a 6:15 train to catch for Rimini.

"Come on now! We don't have time to waste.  The first vaporetto comes at 4:56, and we have to be on it to get  our train!" She referred to the water bound bus which moved people around the city built on pine and oak pilings driven into the lagoon floor.

Twenty minutes later we had our backpacks on and were in the hotel lobby. There was no desk clerk, and we had checked out the night before to save time in departing. I placed the key on the counter as Claudette headed for the door. I was feeling proud of getting up on our own so quickly.

"I can't get the door open.  I think it's locked!" she said with a hint of concern in her voice.

I grabbed the handle and attempted to open the open the door without success. "Hit the bell on the counter," I said.  The bell rang loudly.  We expected to see a sheepish desk clerk appear.  "Ring it again!" I said.  She did, but the sound fell only on our ears.

"What are we going to do?" she asked.

"Call 'em!" I said, then added sheepishly, "That won't do any good.  The phone will just ring here, and there is nobody to answer it but  us.  Maybe there is another way out..."

"Where?"

"I don't know, but I think there is a patio on the other side of the dining room," I said as I walked through the doorway into the dining area where we had had breakfast. One wall had a ceiling to floor curtain. I opened the curtains to find sliding glass doors beyond through which I could see the outdoor dining area. I slid the doors open and entered the patio in the cool morning air. The dining area was surrounded by a vine covered fence two meters high.  No gate. I kicked one of the chairs against the fence in frustration. What next?

I went back into the lobby area. Claudette had found a key and was trying it in the door. No luck.

"We have to get out of here.  We can't wait for someone to come and open up.  We have reservations for that train with our Eurorail passes. We have to make it!" she said with desperation in her voice. "What about the burglar alarm? We've ransacked this place and no alarm goes off...why? Maybe someone would come..."

"Hey, don't think about it.  We don't need to be confronted by the Italian police now!" I added quickly.

I went behind the counter. The desk was a mess; she had already gone through everything on the desk and all the unlocked drawers. "There's gotta be a key here somewhere," I said.  I don't know if I believed there was a key or was trying to convince myself that there was. Behind a stack of papers and some magazines on a bookshelf I found a small metal cabinet mounted on the wall. The door was slightly ajar. The grey metal door swung open easily.  There was a row of hooks about seven inches long and upon them hung keys.  There were individual keys and several keys on keyrings. Keys!

"Hey, I've found some more keys! One of these has gotta work!" I said with new hope in my voice.  "Here try this one!" I said as I tossed a large key across the counter to Claudette at the door. I rounded the counter with a handful of keys as she tried to get the key into the door with shaky hands.

"Better let me try," I said as I elbowed her out of the way at the door. I methodically tried each key with no success. They were all either too big or too small or would enter the lock and not turn the tumblers. "Are there any more keys there?" I asked in desperation. Claudette was behind the counter now.

"I don't think...Oh, here's an old one," she said as she tossed it to me.

It fit the lock.  I turned it gently with anticipation. To my disbelief the door opened.

We wasted no time in congratulating ourselves.  We had a train to catch. At a rapid clip we walked nearly a kilometer to the vaporetto dock. My injury from a few days earlier in my right leg was throbbing as we passed the pizza parlor, gelato shop, and newsstand. We could hear the boat approaching as we bought our tickets from the vending machine.  Of the half dozen people boarding we were the only travelers. The other people were on their way to work. Water traffic was slight. Unlike the norm there were many seats available on the boat, so we settled in for the forty-five minute ride. It was like riding a commuter train with many stops on either side of the canal. The evening before we had taken this ride on the No. 2 boat to see the Grand Canal illuminated at night. Many of the lights were still on in the misty morning light. The ride was a bit smoother due to the lack of traffic. The crowds of tourists, that blemish on the cityscape, were missing as our boat continued toward the train station and the terminus of this voyage and our visit to Venice.

The dock at the train station was the last stop. We scrambled off the boat and ran for the train. Soon we were aboard the train for Rimini. We finally relaxed in the deeply upholstered seats and enjoyed some coffee and brioche. Soon we would be on a bus to the mountaintop country of San Marino.

Gone

USS Bon Homme Richard
Wikipedia Photo

  "We don't want no **##&##** boots in here!", said the bearded man in dungarees and chambray shirt, as he hurled the stool across the shop floor. It was my first day aboard the USS Bon Homme Richard, an aircraft carrier operating in the South China Sea in 1966. A  recent grad of the US Naval Training Center at Great Lakes, IL, I had flown to the Philippine Islands, and after a wild ride through the mountains on a bus from Manila to Subic Bay I boarded the Bonny Dick.  There were six of us "boots" assigned to the Electronics Division. The ships  berthing compartments were full, so-o-o, no racks or bunks for us to sleep in. We were given cots to set up in the forecastle of the ship for our berthing area. It wasn't so bad except for boatswain's mates waking you up in the middle of the night when coming back from liberty while under the influence.

Since we had no skills as electronic technicians we knew we would be performing menial tasks. The technicians onboard thought us to be useless. We were insulted by the term "boot". After seeing the action in the shop I maintained a low profile.  During this heavy buildup for the war effort in Vietnam the Navy could not train electronic technicians fast enough to fill the demand. Consequently, all the technicians had their enlistments extended. This made for some very unhappy sailors. Morale was at an all time low. I didn't speak unless spoken to. But, one of our group did keep a very low profile. He was a young man from the midwest; Jacob Swenson was his name. He was tall, slim, and blonde, a prime example of his Nordic ancestry. A rather likable fellow, Jake got along rather well with us "boots", although he tended to brag too much about his knowledge of electronics. He had an Associates degree from a technical college. The  "old salt" technicians seemed to take offense when he offered unsolicited technical advice.

After a few days aboard the time came for the "boots" to be assigned their duties. Some were assigned to the laundry and other tasks, but I, being fortunate to have a last name beginning with the letter "Y"  was told that I would be working in the shop. (I found that my name being near the end of an alphabetical list was always to my advantage in the Navy.) It was no surprise that Jake was assigned mess deck duty. Aboard ship, mess deck duty was probably the worse duty you could have. Usually it meant scrubbing pots in the scullery, peeling potatoes, or carrying  hundred pound boxes of frozen meat up from the refrigerated locker far below decks.  Jake complained to deaf ears and was told to move his gear to his berthing compartment on the mess deck. At least he

would have a rack and not be sleeping on a cot.

We were at sea and all seemed to be well.  The ship was underway for San Diego**, her nine month deployment coming to an end.  On those brilliant sunny days the ship's wake would appear as a straight line west to the horizon. We were going home.  Everyone seemed to be happy except

for those unhappy about Navy regulations requiring us to be clean shaven when entering port. I had been assigned the task of keeping the repair shop tidy. My most important duty was to keep the fifty cup coffee urn full and the coffee urn area clean. A standing order was never wash a coffee cup.  The WestPac OE Division scudzy coffee cup contest would not end until we tied up in San Diego. There were things growing in some of those cups!

I was in the shop when a Chief Petty Officer called from the mess decks asking when was Swenson was going to report to him. I thought Jake was already there.  I had helped him pack up his stuff three or four days previously. The shop watch relayed the message to our Division Officer, Lt. Robinson*, and he assured the chief that Swenson had been sent below to him. Our Division Officer called the Division to muster and asked us all to look in our area for Swenson. We did not find him. Soon we heard the message over the 1MC, the shipboard intercom, "Man overboard! Man overboard! All hands to your muster stations!" Over one thousand sailors and officers gathered in assigned spaces to be accounted for.  Helicopters were launched to search the sea near the ship. Everyone was accounted for... except Swenson. Designated crew members continued to search the ship but no one found Jacob Swenson.  Of course my mates and I discussed his disappearance.

Robbie said, " 'E ran off at the mouth too much!"

"Yes, he did.  He liked to tell everybody how smart he was," I added.

"The ship's investigator is looking into it. That's the scuttlebutt," added Jamison, trying to sound like an old salt.

"Yeah, I hear they questioned Celick," Okie chimed in.

"And the Eskimo, too!" Robbie said.

"You think they think somebody pushed him overboard?" I asked.

"Dunno, but cain't nobody swim cross no ocean," Okie added.

We heard the bosun's pipe over the 1MC " Lights out, Lights out, about the ship.  Maintain quiet about the decks!"

"'Night, guys," I said, as I wiped a drop of sweat from my brow and tried to go to sleep.

About a week later the Old Man, the Captain of the Bon Homme Richard, came on the 1MC and said, "Seaman Jacob Swenson, if you are aboard the ship, please make your presence known. I'm preparing a letter to inform your parents that you were lost at sea. That is all."  Swenson did not make his presence known to the captain, or anyone else for that matter.  A few days later I was in the shop in the early morning trying to organize some technical manuals on a shelf over the aft workbench when I found a curious thing. Amongst the books was an old black dial telephone. A most interesting note was attached to the handset. It read, "This phone is dead and so is Swenson." A chill ran down my spine.  A shipmate had left that note...

                            
All names are fictitious, but the incident is a true event which happened in January, 1966.
** the ship was home ported in San Diego and went into the shipyard in San Pedro where every part of the ship was given an overhaul before the next deployment--no sailor was found.

The Mill on the Bridge

"There's a covered bridge not far from here," Aaron said as I was finishing my second cup of coffee.  Claudette and I were at the Edenhouse Bed and Breakfast in Swainsboro, Georgia. This was our second day at Edenhouse, and we were planning our day. Swainsboro is about 70 miles from Savannah and not much of a tourist attraction, so we were surprised that there would an example of Americana nearby.

"Tell us more," I said.  Our rotund innkeeper was sitting at a nearby table. We had enjoyed conversation with Aaron since our arrival.  As a retiree of the U.S. Air Force he had many interesting stories.

"It's just a few miles from here, near Twin City.  It's at the George L. Smith State Park.  There's a grist mill, cotton gin, and sawmill too. And, you know what the best thing about it is?" he asked.

"Nope," I said.

"A four hundred acre lake," he replied.

"Wow," I said and turned to Claudete to say, "Let's get movin'".

Claudette knows all about my fondness for old grist mills and the like.

We left Swainsboro on Highway 80  for Twin City, and there we followed the sign pointing to the George L. Smith State Park, but we never saw the entrance to the park.  When we reached Metter, Georgia, we realized we had missed the entrance. We took an alternate route back to Highway 80 and found another sign indicating the direction to the park. There is not actually an entrance to the park. As you drive through a pine forest you see signage indicating the locations of campsites and cabins. Eventually we saw the lake and followed the road beside it until we found some buildings by the lake. The small one was labeled restrooms. My second cup of coffee was making itself known, so we stopped in the parking lot under trees which gave credence to the old expression, "higher than a Georgia pine".

Across the road was the lake, studded with cypress and tupelo trees. The waters of the lake were held back by an earthen dam with a covered bridge in the middle of it.

"Claudette, didn't Aaron say there was a sawmill, cotton gin, and grist mill here?"

"Yes, he did, but I don't see anything but a bridge," she responded, "and he said something about railroad tracks going over the bridge, too".

"Well, let's just look at this bridge then. Maybe those fellas fishing can tell us something," I said as I grabbed her hand and walked across the dam to the covered bridge.

About twenty feet inside the bridge, which seemed as wide as the northbound lanes of I-95, I realized that the bridge housed the mill. There were some odd looking wheels about two feet in

diameter over on the side toward the lake under one of the windows.  "They look a little like railroad car wheels," I mused aloud.

"I know what they are!" Claudette said.

"Oh, really," I said.

"Yes I do.  When the horses would  pull wagons onto the bridge they would sometimes get spooked and bolt. So they put those wheels on the wagons and the horses could not pull the wagons in any direction but straight ahead," she said as she gleefully shared her new found knowledge. "See, it says so right here on this plaque mounted on the wall."

"I'm not sure of exactly how that would work...but I guess it would," I said.

Along the wall there were windows so that you could see the interior workings of the grist mill. The history of the mill was told on the wall mounted plaques as well as the technical data about how the grist mill and the former sawmill and cotton gin had operated.  The sawmill had been used to saw some of the timber from which the bridge was built.  The grist mill had begun operation in the 1880's and continued to grind corn until 1973.
Actually, it could grind corn at the rate of two hundred pounds per
hour.  That's a lot of cornbread and hushpuppies!  The mill is currently operated on a limited basis.  I was particularly interested in how the water powered turbine operated.  The older one was on display.  It's about five feet in diameter.  The speed at which the turbine and subsequent mill stone turns is determined by the pitch (angle) of the turbine blades.  It must have been a busy place with everything operating.  We exited the other end of the bridge, and I thought I would see if the fishermen were having any luck.


I walked down the stairway about thirty feet to water level. There were about four fellows fishing there. Just as I walked down, a fisherman pulled out a fish that was black and about fifteen inches long.  The young man in the John Deere cap deftly took the fish off the hook and released it back into the foaming water.

"What's the matter? Was that one too big for the frying pan?" I asked.

"Naw," he said, "That's an old blackfish.  Ain't no good to eat.  Too many bones. Some people call 'em a freshwater shark 'cause they got so many teeth."

"What other kind of fish are in here?" I asked.

"That fella up there caught some bream and crappie," he answered.

"Yeah, a bream's a good eating fish," I said.

"Amen, to that.  Ain't nothin' better," an old timer added.

"Y'all don't catch 'em all now," I said in parting.

We had enjoyed our visit to George L. Smith State Park.  It was a good outing, and we learned a bit, but it was time to head north to our home in the lowcountry of South Carolina.

The Landing

We turned off the busy highway into another world and drove through a silent tunnel of overhanging live oak trees.
"What's that stuff hanging from the trees?" Nathan asked.

"Spanish moss," I answered, "and did you know it was once used to stuff the seats in Model T Fords?"

 Upon entering a clearing we parked in the lot designated for automobiles. Crossing a wooden bridge we entered the main exhibit structure. I looked for alligators in the pool under the bridge but saw none.  I would have loved to have shown one to our grandson visiting from New Jersey.  We entered the cool and  seemingly dimly lit building to buy our tickets.  As senior citizens, a.k.a. old people, Claudette and I received a discount. Instead of a single ticket discount we opted to buy a season pass to all South Carolina State park attractions. We frequently travel around the state and thought this would be a good companion to our Golden Eagle Passport to all National Parks.

Our grandson was anxious to get started on our tour of Charles Towne Landing in Charleston. There is a wonderful exhibit of artifacts and other items explaining this first English settlement in South Carolina.  One of the most interesting to me was the voyages to the new country, particularly the ships and methods of navigation. They really were iron men in wooden ships. There were other displays depicting colonial life and a scale model of the settlement complete with buildings. Some of the displays contain life-size figures of early settlers and Native Americans.  I noticed that our teenaged grandson had taken a great interest in the figure of a native American young woman who was topless. Having once been a teenage boy myself I could easily imagine the fantasies of his mind.  I suggested to him that it was time to go to the park outside although it would have been great to have read every word of descriptive text in the museum.

We left the cool of the museum to enter the hot, balmy Carolina afternoon. There was no movement of a breeze in the trees, just the stillness of the sun burning thick air. An occasional winged insect made its presence known.

The park has many informative signs, and we followed the one toward the animal forest. The display of wild animals is of those animals that would have been seen by the first settlers in 1670. The winding, well-marked trails carried us by bison, deer, bear, and cougar in their natural habitat.  There was also a caged area for birds such as pelicans and wading birds.  When I visited the park in the mid-seventies there were more animals, particularly smaller ones.  Also there had been elk.  In 1989 Hurricane Hugo destroyed the park, which was initially built to celebrate South Carolina's tricentennial. The reconstructed park did not have the same animals as before. The below ground exhibit space was not restored either.  The bear and cougar do not get close enough to the fence for good viewing, but the river otters always put on a good show.

After leaving the animal displays we walked toward the water. Along the way we passed a primitive building and palisade fortified with cannon.  These are the only seventeenth century cannon on the east coast that are fired with any regularity.  They are fired every third Saturday by volunteers in period costume. As we neared the waterfront we saw the skeleton of an early ship during construction.

"Hey, Nathan," I call out, "let's see how well we can tie knots." There is a panel with short lengths of rope attached for some "hands-on" experience. "I've never been able to tie a clove hitch," I announced.

"Let's do it," he responded, "I learned some knot tying in Boy Scouts." I felt a competition coming on. "I think the cowboys tied their horses to the hitching post with a clove hitch just like this!" I deftly tied the ropes into a perfect clove hitch! First time, ever!

'You said you had never tied a clove hitch!" he exclaimed.

"I haven't. And I know you won't believe me, but it's true," I exclaimed without success.

Next, we stepped gingerly aboard the replica coastal trading ship of the seventeenth century. The young man on board was well versed on period sailing ships and answered all our questions.  This replica ship was built in Maine and was sailed from the shipyard to its current berth. These small ships  could cross the oceans, but they were normally used for coastal cargo ships.  A typical crew for this ship was six to eight men.  The captain and first mate shared a cabin, but the rest of the crew had a common berthing area. It is easy to imagine the cramped quarters below deck when cargo and stores were aboard.

We had a great visit.  It is a great place for family fun. We will return of course; I must see the cannon firing.

My video of our visit.

The House of the Man From Rizq

"Get in," she said, "I'll show you something you've never seen before."

"Yeah, right," Claudette said as she got in the shotgun seat of the somewhat battered Mazda.
I was in the backseat with stuff.  Single people always have a lot of stuff in their cars. I don't know why.  Apartment overflow, I guess. I peered forward at the back of Christina's head. There was a bat tattooed on her neck, and I resigned myself to the fact that a girl with a bat tattoo could probably show me something I had not seen before.  I decided I would be quiet and refrain from commenting on her driving style. The little car seemed to start off spinning and stop sliding, and all cornering was done on two wheels. With clenched teeth I maintained my composure.

"You say we're going to see a pyramid?" Claudette asked.

The girl with the tattoo said. "You got that right!" I knew she liked some rather bizarre architecture and was fond of the pyramid at Magnolia Cemetery in Charleston.

"But there's a lot more than a pyramid," she said. "You just gotta see it!"

We have left Covington, Georgia, and got on the road to Eatonton. The rolling countryside was beautiful in the spring sunshine. The trees had that special bright green of first growth. The little car bounced off the rural highway dodging potholes.  I felt as though we were traveling at an unsafe rate of speed. Of course, I could not let my fears be known without some damage to my male image. I was not in the frame of mind for male bashing which my dear wife and our daughter would have enjoyed.

We were entering open country as our driver said, "It's up ahead on the right!"

"What is that?" I asked.

"A pyramid, of course," Christina answered, "I told you you'd see something you hadn't seen before!"

"Hey, slow down, so I can get a better picture. That looks like the Sphinx and a statue of Isis"

"They get kinda upset when you take pictures," she said.

We were passing an arched gate with some kind of Egyptian hieroglyphics on it.  There were some men in  brimless hats holding automatic weapons guarding the gate. "Those looked like AK-47s to me," I said.

"They call themselves Nuwaubians, and they're always in trouble with the law.  They came here over ten years ago and bought almost five hundred acres of land to build their, uh, settlement on. Some of the local folks say they are waiting for a spaceship from the planet Rizq to come and get them," she was smiling when she said "spaceship".

"Waiting on a spaceship, what a novel idea,' Claudette said, " but it looks like they mostly live in those mobile homes. Christina, what's that sound?"

"That's supposed to be some kind of Egyptian call to prayer or something like the Muslim's call to prayer, I think." said our daughter. The black Mazda with bat decals on the back window was moving at a snail's pace while I made quick sketches.

"I think we better get outta here.  Those men with the AKs are coming this way. Never need to argue with a man with a submachine gun," I said.

She down-shifted and stomped the accelerator pedal, and the little car rocketed forward leaving the compound of the black supremacist.

The girl was right.  I did see something I had never seen before.

Additional Information

• The correct name of the compound was Tama-Re  founded in 1993.
• In 2001 Jesse Jackson visited the compound and pledged his support. 
• In 2002 FBI agents and Putnam County sheriff's officers raided the compound.
• January 2004: Nuwaubian leader Malachi York, 58, was convicted of child molestation and racketeering. He appeared to be going away for a very long time.
• The property was confiscated by the FBI, IRS, and Putnam County Sheriff.  The structures were destroyed and the property sold with the proceeds going to the identities named above.

The Moment

There was that time when I was going to the Junior Prom back in the days of yore. I remember it well, just like it was yesterday. It was on a Saturday night, and I was all slicked up.  I checked myself out in the mirror.  I was smooth shaven.  It had taken a year or two to get the hang of the Gillette double-edged safety razor, but I had managed. My hair, which I spent a bunch of time on, was looking good.  Just the right amount of Butch wax in front. I used BrylCreem on the back and sides to get that perfect duck tail. My hair was squared off on the neck, Elvis style. When I was about fourteen I had squared it off myself with a hunting knife using a mirror to see the back. It hadn't gone over too well with my parents though.   Yes, I did look good in a white dinner jacket. I wore my regular penny loafers with a shine that you could see yourself in. Of course, I still had the taps on the heels so that when I drug my feet on the sidewalk they would make sparks at night. The girls thought that was very cool.

Lionel Hampton 
Wikipedia photo

This was my first big date, and everything had to be perfect. I'd spent half the day getting the family Ford all clean and shiny. At seven-thirty I picked up Linda, the Lutheran preacher's daughter. After a quick inspection by the reverend and my promise to have his daughter home by eleven we were on our way. No problems with the Lutheran household except maybe the problem with the corsage.  Who would have thought a preacher's daughter would have worn a strapless evening dress? Although I would  have loved, and I mean LOVED, to have attached it to her bosom, which was rather ample for a teenaged girl, I did not. Her mother devised a way to attach said flowers to her wrist. In about 15 minutes we would be at the dance.  Not much on the car radio.  The big stations didn't come in clear until nighttime.  Then we could hear WLS from Chicago and John Orr advertising Randy's Record Shop in Memphis. That was some good music. Our parents weren't too fond of Rhythm and Blues.  Some called it "colored music". Hardly anything but static on the radio.  Sure wish I had one of those car record players, but soon we'd dancing to the good stuff at the prom.

Everybody always looks better in formal wear. The girls are so much prettier. We made our way through the receiving line in the grand ballroom of the Oregon Hotel and met our friends. We were in the grandest hotel in downtown Greenwood, South Carolina. The music was a big let-down. The faculty had picked the band. It was Lionel Hampton's band.  I can't imagine anyone dancing to the music of the Vibes. It was a bust. Soon people were leaving, after they had the crowning of the King and Queen of the prom, and we followed suit. We rode through the Dixie Drive-In and the Ranch Drive-In on the way to Linda's and only stopped a few minutes to talk with friends.

By the time we were going down the road to Linda's house they were really playing some good music on the radio. Tunes like "Earth Angel" and "Run Around Sue".  And those great songs of the Platters.

I pulled the Ford up into Linda's driveway, and we sat and talked for a few minutes. We sat close together and were thankful that the government had not made seat belts mandatory in cars. It sounded like a dumb idea. I mean, how could a guy carry his girl out on a date with her sitting way on the other side of the car?  I walked her to the door.  I decided that I would kiss her goodnight even though it was our first date. The porch light was on.  I'm thinking that the preacher must still be up. Linda opened the screen door and stuck her hand inside and turned off the porch light. Things were looking better! She seemed to melt into my arms. The moonlight danced across the lawn, and I could hear the Platters on the car radio. "Heavenly shades of night are falling.  It's  twilight time..."  Things were perfect...almost. We kinda banged our glasses together.  Mine were black rimmed and hers were those cat-eyed shaped ones, but I deftly grabbed hers and mine and stuck them in my jacket pocket. Much better. She  looked up into my eyes and closed hers while tilting her head back. Her lips slightly parted. I looked down into the face of the most beautiful girl in the world and puckered my lips.

A loud yelp, bark, snarl came from near my left foot, as I had stepped on the foot of Linda's Yorkie. The little dog had slipped out of the house when she had opened the door to turn off the light. The moment was spoiled.

I never did get that kiss, but I did cultivate quite a dislike for Yorkshire Terriers!

The Dirt Church

"Let's go see a dirt church," I said after lunch one Sunday afternoon last year.

"What?" she asked, but added, "We need to get out of the house this afternoon instead keeping our noses in the TV."

Many have heard the term "common as dirt" and then there was the movie "Joe Dirt". The term "dirt" refers to unclean matter. But, when used as a building material it is soil. The correct term for dirt, i.e. soil construction is rammed earth. This construction method was first used in China as long ago as 5000 BC and is used on virtually every continent except Antarctica. The process is actually very simple: forms are made of wood, and earth is packed inside the forms. The form is removed, and the wall remains standing.  The earth is sometimes a mixture of clay, sand, and gravel and is lightly damp. It is compacted to one half its original size. For example, if earth is piled into a form to the four foot level, it is then damped down (compacted) to the two foot level.
This type of construction has many advantages, particularly in the low cost of building material. Several pages were allotted to this in  The Whole Earth Catalogue and The Last Whole Earth Catalogue.  These publications were popular with communes in the '60s. In the 1930s the Department of Agriculture and Clemson College did research into the method of construction as well.

There are two prominent structures of rammed earth construction in South Carolina, and it was our intent to see one of them. We knew that the Church of the Holy Cross in Sumter County near the town of Stateburg was one of them.  Instead of following I-26 and I-95 for the bulk of the trip, we avoided the interstate highways and took the backroads through the open country and small towns.  The church was at 335 North Kings Highway.  The original wooden church was built on land donated by General Thomas Sumter, the "Gamecock" of the American Revolution, from whom Sumter County gets its name. The current church built in 1850-51 is a National Historic Landmark. It is of Victorian High Gothic Revival Style and constructed using the aforementioned Pise’ de Terre  method.  One method of financing was to sell pews, as was the custom, with premium pews demanding higher prices. 

Although we were unable to enter this active Anglican church we were able to enjoy its exterior beauty. As is our custom we did scout the cemetery for notables. We saw the burial places for veterans of all wars from the American Civil War to more current conflicts. 

"Claudette, I've found a grave that will make you think of Christmas," I announced.

"What? You have found a grave that will make me think of Christmas?" she asked, "What is it some more sheep carved of stone like the shepherds had in the Christmas story?"

"No," I said laughingly, "It's nothing to do with the Christmas story."

She joined me at the headstone of the grave of  Joel Roberts Poinsett. "Could the poinsettia have been named for him?" She asked.

"You're absolutely right!  When the physician, botanist, and statesman was in Mexico he brought the plant back to the U.S.A."

Soon we would leave South Carolina's only dirt church without realizing that the plantation house we saw across from the church was constructed of rammed earth also. As we were driving home, Claudette mused, "Who would believe that dirt could be so beautiful?"

"Yes, but government building codes don't allow it to be used as a building material now. No more dirt churches"