Wisconsin farmland and Milwaukee meandering

We decided to take the back roads through Wisconsin farm country to Milwaukee from Madison, taking a detour to Racine, where my dad and uncle grew up.  Lush, rolling hills with gold and green corn fields, sprinkled with wild amaryllis and Queen Anne’s lace soothed my sun parched soul.  What a relief to luxuriate in the vivid greens of well-watered trees and grasses.  The great lakes are battling for survival, like most other waterways under siege from pollution.  Still, when we got to Racine it looked like we were at the beach.  So too in Milwaukee, which also has a lovely, sandy beach along the shores of Lake Michigan.

Milwaukee is an attractive city, a little smaller than Austin. Gary and Diane Porter, my cousins, were perfect hosts for a trip around scenic downtown Milwaukee and Waukesha, their suburb. Knowing I was interested in local architecture, Gary took us to the University area, both U WI Milwaukee and Marquette, where the St. Joan of Arc Chapel stands and where my grandfather went to school. The 15th Century church was disassembled in France, shipped to New Jersey, reconstructed then disassembled again and brought to Marquette University. I wished I had the time to sit and meditate in the church, it had a very intimate, electric atmosphere. St. Joan is a personal favorite.  It’s still interesting to me that she was canonized, although I think it’s safe to say the Catholics make their rules up as they go.

Gary (who put the Pulitzer in Porter) is the lead photographer for the Milwaukee Journal Sentinel so he really knows his city. While we did make it to the Milwaukee Art Museum, it wasn’t open so I contented myself with shots of the Burke Bris Soleil at the Quadracci Pavillon shown below. Visiting Gary and Diane for the first time was such a pleasure. Enjoying their hospitality and swapping stories made me realize how we, as family members, really mirrored one another, even though we grew up in different parts of the country. These days I feel like a tuning fork much of the time, seeking resonance with others and finding it or not. Returning to the land of my ancestors moved me in ways that continue to unfold, as if I never left the St. Joan Chapel – still meditating just below the surface of my thoughts.

Sauntering the byways of Madison, WI

Thanks to my cousin Steve Porter, Bill and I were ushered off Madison’s beaten path to both musical and edible treats. After landing in the lake city, Bill and I made our way to the University of Wisconsin Rathskeller -a classic beer hall- sehr Deutsch. Cruising down State street, catering to the university crowd with bookstores and sidewalk cafes, we stopped for refreshments at Hsusus, a small Mediterranean cafe. Steve mentioned that it used to be a Dunkin Donuts before some students rolled a big wooden spool through the front window. A young violinist entertained passersby with classical tunes, the crowd: a mix of seasoned hippies and students of every stripe. Casual, unpretentious, it was easy to feel at home in Madison, which shares an alternative outlook with Austin, though with fewer tattoos. Moving on to Talula, a restaurant/music venue, we enjoyed crab puffs, fresh pasta and handmade pizza, layered with farm fresh vegetables. Drinks were delightful, the bartender/owner was friendly and the band brought a down home, honky tonk ambiance, complemented by works of local artists, shown below.

Earlier in the day when we were driving into the city, Bill and I caught a few minutes of a radio talk-show featuring a host who was taking Q & A about health care reform. Oddly, he was liberal, something I didn’t think existed on radio talk shows. Talking with Steve about what was happening in Wisconsin, I was reminded of the rich labor movement tradition underlying the establishment of things we take for granted and are now challenged: overtime, sick leave, vacation time, social security and health benefits. We’ll see what the future holds. Clubs in Wisconsin and probably most of the Great Lakes areas can be found in places once inhabited by supper clubs. These outliers are are now in light industrial areas (one was across from the Oscar Mayer wiener plant) on a grid known only to the locals. I was happy to have part-time drummer, Steve as our guide.  Great roadhouse blues, mysterious back roads, and good company made for a great adventure in Madison, Austin’s sister city.

Jazz Brunch Sundays at the Nutty Brown Cafe

The Nutty Brown Cafe and Amphitheatre is one of those places I’ve intended to go but never quite made it to until the Sunday Jazz Brunch caught my eye. Heading West on Hwy 71/290 just before Dripping Springs, it’s a classic roadhouse cafe with a great patio under the oaks and friendly servers dishing up TXAmerican fare.
Cowboys and cowgirls are welcome, but I didn’t see any dogs on the patio.

The brunch was notable for the variety of generally tasty dishes, with migas and fresh fruit among my favorites.  Waffles were available upon request, french toast, bacon, sausage, hash browns and a chorizo bake comprised the breakfast offerings while lunch included smoked bbq chicken, potato salad, stuffed pork chops with apple glaze, beef medallions and tilapia, both over rice.  The pecan cobbler was also quite good.

 

 

 

Bonus points for having a macaw in a decent sized cage.  He or she was fairly responsive and seems to like women and children.

It was very pleasant just sitting outside watching the clouds roll by with a nice breeze keeping things cool.  Bill enjoyed the

variety of foods he wouldn’t normally cook for himself, which is probably a good thing given our suspicions about the overall calorie count.  The ingredients were fresh and nicely prepared and it’s possible to manage temptation and get your money’s worth at $13.00 per person.  The band provided a nice compliment to the relaxed morning’s dining.  I’ll be happy to go out with a few friends for another outing.  The brunch is served from 10am until 2pm, so even in the summer, the patio should be cool enough to enjoy  in the mornings and evenings.

Water and Cypress Tree Meditations

Texas cypress are so enchanting, I half expect to see a unicorn step out from behind one someday. Even in winter, bald cypress exude an ancient, mysterious grace. Click on thumbnails to enlarge the photos and enjoy the soundtrack on videos below.

Krause Spings has a small but impressive stand of cypress. Though the dragon flies are no larger than your fingers, that doesn’t diminish the primeval feel of the landscape.

Krause Spring Cypress stand

Winter Cypress on FM 1826
Even winter cypress preside majestically over spring fed creeks, shown here off FM 1826 past the Salt Lick. Spanish moss graces the trees on the Medina River
Cypress by the Medina River hung with Spanish Moss
Standing in clear, spring fed creeks or by river’s edge, water is the spiritual advisor to Cypress. For your relaxation, a clip of water flowing through a cypress forest girdling a small elbow of the Medina River.

The Nelson-Atkins Art Museum in Kansas City

The Nelson-Atkins Art Museum in Kansas, City, Missouri takes an elegant approach to showcasing its collection. We skipped the Impressionists exhibit in favor of the American Indian, Modern and Contemporary, the Chinese and Japanese art and the Photography collections.  Here is a glimpse of what they have to offer.

Kansas: no place like home or home is where your heart is?

Traveling back to my birthplace, Junction City, Kansas was a pilgrimage I considered off and on over the years.  There was Dorothy from the Wizard of Oz on the one hand and a bit of Lena Lovich on the other. After all, I was conceived in Vienna, Austria, shipped overseas in utero, born 2 months later in Kansas then back to Europe at 6 tender months, not to return until the end of this, my golden year. Bill, a fan of Midwestern Regionalist Art, and I also scheduled a hike at the Konza Prairie Biological Field Station for a closer look at the Flint Hills.

The first leg of our 2.5 hour Kansas trek was lovely; rolling hills and horse farms, a little of the magic of Grant Woods’ Young Corn. When we stopped at Grandma Hoerner’s Organic Food Store, I was gratified to find a portrait of Auntie Em hanging in the folksy warehouse shop. A few jars of special sauces later we resumed our journey West.

Then came Topeka. To be fair, there were controlled burns devouring the hills in every direction. Smoke twisted off the horizon, casting a pall over much of the land. Topeka boasted train tracks, stock yards and a kind of dark malaise. Like the oil fields we passed through in Wyoming, this was not a happy place. I didn’t shake the heaviness until we were 60 miles past. The question of Junction City loomed large in my mind, but proved to be the epitome of anywhere USA. I was really disappointed, not noticing anything quaint or comely about the town. Finally, I pulled over to get a shot of a pleasant building, which was fortuitous because it led us to Bessie’s Buy Gone Antiques. Don, the gregarious owner of the store radiated energy and a warmth that made me feel welcome in my “home” town. Within the span of 20 minutes he told us we were baby Gods, (able to create and destroy but not yet wise enough to create heaven on earth) proclaiming how great life is while giving us a deal on a photo of black leather Elvis and a strand of pearls, my nod to Eisenhower America. Bill calls him Don Miguel, from the 4 Agreements; glad to have found a Bodhisattva along the way. Don’s motto:

The Konza Tall Grass Prairie preserve was so windy I thought I could fly. The headwind was a bit battering, but there were glimpses of the rolling, furry hide of mother earth that I found so appealing in Nebraska. As we walked through the woods, there was a palpable feeling of blood in the land. My impression was of the civil war era but the American Indians battled at least as long and hard here. In the two pictures of the woods in which this battle weary feeling was strongest an odd glow appears. I can’t explain it but it does give me pause. When I started imagining writing about this part of the trip, my overall feeling was much bleaker, it was so darkened by this wounded land. As you can see in the images below, the prairie is very light, a kingdom of grass and sky, whipped by tireless gusts of wind.

First Friday in Kansas City

Kansas City has a vibrant art and music scene, with many fine murals and a good combination of traditional and imaginative architecture. Although we didn’t find the perfect barbecue, we had a few good meals and listened to a rockin’ zydeco band, Blue Orleans at BB’s Lawnside and Bar B Que. I didn’t bring my camera to the club but the joint was jumping and I would certainly go back again. We stayed at the Raphael Hotel, a grand dame from the 1920’s and enjoyed walking around the Crossroads before going out to the Power and Light district downtown for First Friday. There were a few too many cartoon character sculptures for my taste but all in all, good times. So for now, Goodbye to Kansas City, New York City here we come.

Kansas City Market

I had a good feeling about Kansas City before we flew in for a long weekend of fun. Starting our adventure in the City Market among a robust offering of fabulous, cheap vegetables was a good thing. Our dining overall was spotty but all the vegetables I had were vigorous and flavorful, locally grown and really fresh. Next time, we will head for Oklahoma Joe’s right away to get our barbecue fix. This is a pretty town that shows a lot of support for the arts, architecture and music. For now, enjoy the vivid colors of spring’s bounty.

More dining delights at the Old Alsatian Steakhouse and Ristorante

Traveling back to Castroville to spend the day and dine at the Old Alsatian Steakhouse and Ristorante proved to be another delightful excursion.  Bill and I had lunch on our last visit; now we were prepared for a fine dining experience at dinner and were not disappointed.  Starting with Mike’s Alsatian Delight – black mussels in a creamy herb and Irish whiskey sauce – was a good idea.  Like little babies, we stopped short of drinking the rich and indescribably sublime sauce after polishing off the fresh, tender mussels.  Tito offered us a taste of the shrimp bisque, which was subtly different from the creamy mussel sauce  with the addition of paprika, almost as delicious.  Three cheers for the petite house salad with a homemade vinaigrette bolstered by mounds of finely minced onion.  We were already satisfied when our entrees arrived.  I had the Flounder Fiorno and Bill had the Pork medallions in a superb Marsala sauce with raisins.  Both dishes were delicious but the flounder was out of this world.  Lightly battered and draped in a melt in your mouth creamy chardonnay sauce with capers and almonds, I floated on waves of pleasure, overcome with the feeling that I was transported to the old world, somewhere in the French, German alps.  The carrots and peas were outstanding, the spinach savory and the green beans distinctly delicious.  Portions were bountiful, I ate too much, but cannot complain.  We were too full for dessert; I’m sure they were wicked.  We toddled around the block, still reeling from our feast but I would do it again, preferably with 4 people sharing.  The restaurant offers wine tastings (with appetizers), both public and private. Check their website for announcements or contact them to plan a party. Sunday photos are added as a segue to our morning visit to the Medina River, another excellent reason to visit Castroville.

 

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The Chicago Art Institute

Walking into the Chicago Art Institute was like walking into a textbook.  The sheer number of iconic paintings was dizzying.  Unfortunately, we left without seeing the photography exhibit, the new media exhibit or Native American art, which I will save for future visits.  The Impressionist exhibit alone was life altering.  As I said in Facebook, “Art was pouring out of my eyes” when we left the gallery.  Chicago has a lot of character.  It will take me many visits to feel like I know what this city is about.