#17, The Cardinal ~ Traveling North on a Southern Bird

February 23 - 24, 2022

I had hoped to meet  up with that iconic southern bird, with its brilliant plumage and signature crest.  Alas, only one shy gray-plumed female perched near my coffeeshop table in Blowing Rock.  I am now aboard its namesake train, en route to Chicago.

The way the hotel shuttle service worked out I was dropped off an hour early at the tiny, painted-brick, Charlottesville station.  The sun shone, and the temperature climbed to a balmy seventy degrees, as I sat on the one and only bench in front of the station. 

Amtrak Station, Charlottesville, VA

Dainty Ground Cover Growing up the Station Wall

Old Glass Block Windows on Charlottesville, Amtrak Station

And then, right on time at 1:42 pm, the blue and gray engine thundered into view.  Before I could board sleeper car #5100, an attendant had to unchain a set of stainless steel-clad steps from a light post nearby.  These days, people will steal anything that isn’t locked to a post, even a shiny set of steps.

The Cardinal, Charlottesville, VA

Roomette #4 turned out to be of a unique and well thought out design that I’ll write about in another blog.  My sleeper car attendant, Bateman, quickly showed me where to stow my luggage and brought fresh bottles of water, before moving on to other passengers.  He called me “honey”, so I knew it was going to be a good trip. 

When asked if I wanted a late lunch to be brought in, I confessed that I had already eaten.  I’d already had experience with this “Flexible Dining” menu, and I wasn’t taking any chances.  Bateman brought me, not one, but two fat, chocolate chunk brownies instead, with a good cup of decaf to wash them down.  I saved one brownie for a future emergency situation.  One never knows when the need for a brownie will arise.

Amtrak Snacks

Despite the constant jostling of the train as we rumble along, I enjoy coloring simple designs to pass the time, as I listen to yet another Mitford book. I feel like it's a kind of therapy for the perfectionist in me, as I have to accept a less than perfect coloring job as beautiful.

Virginia slipped by my dirty window in a tangle of brown.  Winter-browned grass, scraggly brown trees, brown corn fields, and old kudzu wrapped telegraph poles.  

Since freight own the rails, Amtrak must pace herself to their schedule.  Sometimes that means moving at a walking pace through freight yards.  I enjoy those peeks between the massive cars on the tracks, and studying the mechanics of the cars. 

We followed the Jackson River for quite a ways, and of course, crossed it frequently.  I saw that many houses along the river were built on stilts.  

Jackson River, VA

Jackson River, VA

House on Stilts, Jackson River, VA

In the evening, the sun set rather quickly into a gathering bank of clouds.  I slipped across the aisle to the empty room adjacent to mine, to take a picture. 

As night wrapped around our rocking and rolling home, my ordered dinner was brought to my room.  Sesame salmon, with sautéed veggies and sticky rice.  I had ordered this on a previous route, and it hadn’t turned out nearly as good.  All items on this particular menu come prepackaged, and I suppose everyone reheats them differently. 

Sesame Salmon - Flexible Dining on The Cardinal

On a train, as soon as the sun goes down, I feel sleep beckoning to me.  There are no evening chores or movies to watch, just a night of rocking and rolling through the dark.  So, with that, I had my bed made up around 7:30, and soon after, stretched out to read.  The design of the room meant the bed was quite narrow at the bottom, like an old-school wooden coffin, but it was welcoming, none-the-less.  

Amtrak's Signature Silky Blue Blanket

One Selfie.  I'm Pretty Excited About Going to Bed

After a lot of tossing and turning on the thin, firm mattress, I woke for the day near the town of Lafayette, Indiana.  Pulling aside the signature dark blue curtains, I found we had once again moved into snow country. 

After a quick visit to the café car, I ate my less-than-yummy continental breakfast in my little room.  Miles slipped by, with the scenery ever changing.

Horse Farm in Indiana

Soon the towns grew closer together, and by late morning we were in the suburbs of Chicago.  And then, we were surrounded by a multitude of tracks on both sides, with the light rail tracks of Metra mixed in.  And at last, we pulled into the cave-like darkness of the Chicago station. 

Amtrak Station Yard, Chicago

Chicago, Union Station

It was very cold in there, and as I walked towards the inside terminal, I noticed the buildup of snow on the iron underside of the train.  I found it fascinating that it stayed on, despite the speeds we sometimes traveled.

Snow on the Belly of the Train

Once again inside the grand hall, I just had to stand and gawk at the ceiling like the tourist I am, before shucking my luggage in the Metropolitan Lounge. 

Ceiling of Great Hall, Chicago Union Station

Great Hall, Chicago Union Station

Since on my eastward trip I had opted to do a lot of walking in Chicago, I determined that on my stop west, I would seek out some true Chicago-style pizza.  I asked Ruby, one of the lounge attendants, for a recommendation.  She pointed out a place pretty much across the street that was highly recommended. Beggars Pizza, and several other food establishments were on the ground floor of this building.  I'm assuming that the rest is businesses or apartments. 

 As soon as it opened for the day I headed over.  I knew that deep-dish style takes a while to bake but was a little surprised when my personal-size, pepperoni with mushrooms and olives took a full 45 minutes.  

On the Corner of Clinton and Jackson, Chicago, IL

I took it with me back to the Metropolitan Lounge to enjoy with their free soft drinks.  After two pieces I offered the remainder to an elderly gentleman beside me.  He was from Ethiopia, and has a daughter named Amy, who lives in Oregon.  He was delighted with my leftovers and managed to eat them with a spoon procured from the snack counter. 

 

Chicago Deep Dish Pizza

Route of The Cardinal

 

#16, Down the Mountain ~ Farewell to Mitford

February 22, 2022

Father Tim often spoke going "down the mountain".  He wasn't usually leaving, per se, but going somewhere.  To do some special shopping, or something of that nature.  Once he careened down the mountain in a brakeless car, with Helene Pringle at the wheel, following a hint about the illusive Sammy Barlow.  

Somehow, in all of the mentions of trips, I don't recall any reference to blinding, blasted fog.  Though the sun had long since risen by the time I vacated my little motel room and loaded up the rental car, there was no sign of it in any direction.  

I didn't really have the luxury of hanging out and waiting for it to clear, as I had a long drive ahead of me to Charlottesville, VA.  So off I went, squinting through the windshield.  

Though I had brought along a full-size paper map, I trusted my gps when it sent me out onto the Blue Ridge Parkway.  The fog hung like a shroud, and a couple of times I simply had to pull off and take a few breaths before continuing on.  

Blue Ridge Parkway

Occasionally something would beep in my dash and I'd get a notice that the front camera had condensation on it that I needed to clean off.  Sure, let me get right on that.  I did, however, clean off my side mirror, the better to see any car before it rear-ended me in the dense fog. 

Fog Ahead and Behind

While I could never see the cliff just beyond the shoulder of the road, I could certainly sense it, and prayed mightily that I wouldn't miss a curve and plunge off into the abyss. 

 

At least I knew how far it was to the bottom - 3,240 feet

Fog on the Blue Ridge Parkway

The knuckle-gripping fog continued for about ten miles until I reached a lower elevation and was directed onto a major highway.  The remainder of the drive went fine until there was a wreak that closed down I-77.  My gps sent me off on a meandering, scenic loop, over hill and dale, and once again through heavy fog.  I was never so thankful as when I finally was reunited with the highway, and eventually arrived at my hotel in Charlottesville.

#15, “Fernbank” and a Windy Walk to a Graveyard

 February 21, 2022

Fernbank, aka, Moses H. Cone Manor

Fernbank, the lovely abode of the elderly Miss Sadie, and her dearest friend, Luella, is loosely based on the historic Moses H. Cone mansion.  On Monday, my last full day in Blowing Rock, I drove down the Blue Ridge Parkway a short distance to see this nearly 14,000 square-foot mansion.  I had been made aware that the interior was being remodeled, so would not be open for tours, but I wanted to see the outside anyway. 

Side of Flat Top Manor

This massive, 23 room mansion was built in the Colonial Revival style for Moses and Bertha Cone at the turn of the twentieth century.  Called Flat Top Manor, it was built as the couple’s summer retreat.  The estate covers 3,500 acres, and includes manmade Bass Lake, and apple orchard and much more.  Moses Cone had nearly 25 miles of carriage trails made just so guests could ride around and enjoy the outdoors.  A three-story carriage house was built on the property.  The lowest level was a stable for the horses, the middle level for the carriages, and the upper for other storage. 

3-Story Carriage House on Moses H. Cone Estate

It isn't clear if the home was so-called because of the flat top of the house, or because it was built on the only flat piece of ground, but the property does slope down from the house.  All the way to Bass Lake, far below.  In fact, Bertha Cone had Bass Lake created so that they could enjoy it from the second-floor balcony.  I stopped for a small picnic on the shore of the lake prior to driving to the manor house. 

Peaceful Bass Lake on the Moses H. Cone Estate

Due to the lay of the land, one would need a drone to fully capture the beauty and details of this grand home.  I noticed the lack of cultivated landscaping around the home, but perhaps they felt it didn't need further adornment.  

Flat Top Manor

View of the Valley and Bass Lake, from the Spacious first-floor porch

As mentioned, there are twenty-five miles of carriage trails, now for hiking and horseback riding.  I followed one from the house, past the carriage house, and under the Blue Ridge Parkway.  Walking through the short tunnel was dicey,  as it was a puddle over ice.  To keep your feet dry you needed to carefully step on the ice chunks that protruded up above the water surface.  

Under the Blue Ridge Parkway

On the right side of the trail was woods, but beyond the tumbledown barbwire on the left, the land fell away to rolling hills, not unlike the moors of England.  Despite the bleached, winter-weary grasses that cloaked the hills, I found a lonesome sort of beauty there. 

The trail eventually wound through the forest.  It was a steady grade, and the air thin and cool, so I found the mile or so walk up the hill to be plenty of exercise.  Without their leaves I wasn't able to identify many of the trees, but the debris on the ground showed that there were oak, hazelnut, and some other type of nut tree.  Vast wild rhododendrons provided some green amidst the brown. 

Old Carriage Trail on the Cone Estate

Wild Rhododendron

The trail finally entered a large clearing, cut across it, and ended at a small fenced graveyard.  The gate posts were wrapped with a rusty chain, and locked with a padlock, so there was no entrance.  The brochure I had picked up indicated that the cemetery was created when Moses Cone passed away in 1908, not many years after the estate was completed.  His wife, Bertha, and her two sisters are buried here as well. 

Cone Cemetery, Blowing Rock, NC

After Moses died, Bertha's two sisters, Sophie Lindau and Clementine Lindau, stayed with her at the manor in summer and fall, until Bertha passed away in 1947.  Two years later the land and buildings were donated to the Blue Ridge Parkway.

Making my way back down the hill I took note of the random patches of snow here and there.  It seemed that spring would be a long time arriving in these hills.  

At the antique store where Brandon and I browsed, we admired a cabinet made of burlwood.  Several of the trees had large burls, like pregnant bellies, hugging their rough-barked trunks.  

Burlwood

Breaking free of the woods, once again a Jane Eyre-ish scene stretched before me.  Were it not for the Blue Ridge peeping through from behind, I would easily have been transported to the windswept moors of England.  I could almost hear a cape flapping.