Lots to see in my state

Journal of Our Journesy - Chapter 14  

Multiple Stops in Wisconsin

Dad had always been opposed to driving in the city. He would go great distances to avoid going through any metropolitan areas. It was surprising, then, that in 1973, we were able to get him to take us to the Milwaukee Zoo.

The Milwaukee Zoo, then as now, is considered one of the country’s finest. It was innovative in the 1960s and 1970s by replacing the old iron bars with more natural environments. Each area featured predators of a continent at the back of the exhibit, accompanied by their prey in the front, separated by a deep moat that mainly went unnoticed by the zoo visitor.

Humane accommodations for all the animals except one.

Samson, the huge lowland gorilla, was a zoo star. In his enclosure was a large scale where he liked to sit; his weight would read up to 600 pounds. He would check out the visitors watching him, pick one out of the crowd, and try to stare them down with his intense black eyes. If he saw something about you that he didn’t like, he would rush the thick Plexiglas wall that kept him contained. On several occasions over the years, he managed to crack the thick glass.

His life was a very tragic one in that large cage. Unlike those other animals who lived in environments similar to their natural ones, for some reason, they chose to force this giant to live in a sterile environment much removed from what would have been his jungle home. He was born in 1949 and moved to Milwaukee as a baby. He lived to the ripe old age of 32, but I know he would have preferred a shorter life if it meant living in the wild.

While in Milwaukee, we also saw the botanical gardens in Whitnall Park. We visited numerous flower gardens on various trips, and they all began to blend together after a while. For some reason, this particular park was memorable enough for Dad to note it in the Camper Log.  

It is the largest park in Milwaukee County, and many of its buildings were constructed by the Civilian Conservation Corps during the 1930s. Since Dad had worked for the CCC as a young man, that may have been his fascination with this park. I remember nothing about it.

The next day, we toured the Cave of the Mounds, a cave west of Madison. Again, we have been through quite a few caves. I don’t recall anything special about this cave itself, but outside, in what would be the driveway, they had set up sluices so that young geologists could sift through rock from the cave in search of gemstones or just plain interesting rocks.

Over the years, we have collected more than our share of what we thought were remarkable rocks, but we always needed more. Even to this day, my pockets somehow fill up with stones and pebbles whenever I’m at a rocky beach.     

The House on the Rock in Spring Green would have to be the one tourist trap I have visited far more than any other. In 1973, it was still mostly about the House, which, all by itself, was interesting enough with its passageways, low ceilings, and hidden seating areas. Carpet on the walls, stained glass windows, interior fountains, bookcases in recesses that were not accessible. I liked to sit back in one of those cubbies and imagine living there.

The House on the Rock was the home of Alex Jordan, a sculptor and collector. I don’t know where in the grand scheme of things he lost control, but to me, I just liked the straightforwardness of the House itself, the original Gate House, and the Mill House. Over the years, the attraction expanded beyond words.

The maze of buildings, housing thousands of collections ranging from merry-go-round horses to butterflies to room-size music machines, though very interesting to experience, detracts from the sincerity of the original structures.

As a side note, a month after returning home from southern Wisconsin, we went to Door County and Algoma. Door County is that section of eastern Wisconsin that juts out into Lake Michigan. It is yet another beautiful part of the state, and has become another tourist trap. When we went there, though, almost yearly, between the end of July and the first part of August, we had a goal other than tourism. We were picking cherries.

It is just another one of those crazy things my parents did every year. We would go over to Algoma on a Friday night and get up early to pick cherries. Then, Mom would spend the afternoon canning them in the tiny confines of the camper. Of course, she forced my sister Pat and me to remove the pits, as my mom rejected child labor laws. But I think most parents at that time were on her side, and I think that’s what’s wrong with all the generations who came after mine.

Anyway, on Sunday morning, we would pull up camp but stop to pick more cherries on the way home. As soon as we got home late in the day, Mom would start canning again. She was always that ambitious. And we were her constant slaves.

(The only pictures I could find from that summer were the deer and the rhinos at the zoo. I can picture a picture of us picking cheeries, but can't find it. Hard to believe, with all the pictures I take now, but that's thanks to the digital age.)