A series about Wisconsin is not complete without a post about Wisconsin Dells. On our excursions to Chetek I vividly remember seeing signs, possibly starting south of Beloit, declaring the wonders of Wisconsin Dells — Tommy Bartlett Water Show, Noah’s Ark, Fort Dells, & The Wonder Spot. I remember longing to visit the Dells because of those signs, but it wasn’t until I was at least 10 years old that we actually did visit the Dells for a day.
I’m guessing we stopped there either on the way to Chetek or on the way back from Chetek, but I can’t be certain — maybe we drove there and back in one day — I know we did not stay overnight though, at least not in a motel. I do know, however, that we visited it with the Pasholks and the reason was mostly for my dad and Jack to meet with a mutual friend of theirs. I remember sitting in the friend’s house while the grownups drank beers and thinking, Get on with it already — I want to have some fun. Did we come all the way to Wisconsin Dells so we could be bored watching you drink beer and visit with your friend?
The grownups finally did say goodbye to their friends and took us kids to an attraction: Fort Dells. I remember quite a bit about the day at Fort Dells. We saw a Wild West show, drove a model T car around a track and went to a haunted house. I remember being very scared of the haunted house and burying my face in my hands for most of the ride, much to Marcia’s amusement. I think we might have stopped in a Paul Bunyan’s for lunch or dinner, but that might be another memory. I wanted to visit The Wonder Spot but we didn’t — possibly because we ran out of time, or because it was too expensive.
At the time of that visit I was young enough to not be embarrassed by kitsch — something that the Dells excels at. As I grew older and until somewhat recently, I avoided anything that might be considered kitschy.
I think my mom and dad took my brother and me to the Dells one other time — on a trip that also involved a visit to the Baraboo Circus World Museum. I remember very little of the Dells on that trip except maybe seeing The Wonder Spot. I sort of remember someone sitting on a levitating chair. However maybe I just saw a brochure for it.
Dad at The Wonder Spot
My only other visit to the Dells was as memorable as the first, but I think I liked it less. This visit was on our first honeymoon — the one with Neal & Marie and Paul. Neal and Marie were from New England and Paul was from England, so they’d probably not even heard of Wisconsin Dells and might not have chosen to go had we not suggested it. One of the reasons I wanted to go to the Dells was because my mom and dad went there on their honeymoon in 1954. They went The Wonder Spot.
This time we didn’t go to Fort Dells — because we were too old and also because it wasn’t there anymore. We did ride The Ducks though. That was interesting and it was nice to see the real reason for Wisconsin Dells — not the tourist traps that were advertised on the signs, but the natural sandstone formations on the Wisconsin River. I don’t think that I knew anything about the actual Dells until this trip. It was a little scary, though, when the driver of the vehicle stopped in the woods and asked for tips.
I was hoping to take my kids to the Dells, but it never happened, and now they’re really too old to want to go with their parents, if at all. Clare likes kitsch, but I think it embarrasses Andrew. I’m not sure I’ll ever go again. The places that I’d remembered from my childhood are gone and I’ve already seen the Dells. I’m pretty sure that if I went I’d be disappointed.
Jill and Gordon are two of my favorite people. Although technically my mom’s friends, I think of them as my own friends as well. I used to babysit for Jill’s kids, when I was in high school and college. Gordon graduated with Dean’s older brothers, Danny and Dennis. So Jill and Gordon are about half-way in age between my mom and me.
I remember Dean and I being invited to their house for dinner once, long ago, before we’d ever entertained (formally) ourselves. I don’t recall what we ate — something grilled, I think, but I do remember Gordon pouring me a glass of wine — it was probably the first time I’d drank wine that wasn’t sweet and cheap. Knowing Gordon, it was probably pretty good wine. I remember having a grown-up conversation with them and feeling really good about it.
We see them occasionally when we visit Elgin — more often now that they raise alpacas.
Gordon is the nicest guy you’ll ever meet. When he talks to you it is as if you are the most important person in the world at that moment. He really listens. He’s also very smart and can converse on many topics and levels. Jill is a trip and a lot of fun. She always has a story to tell, and it usually involves waving hands and various decibels of voice loudness. She also always has a smile on her face. She also cares deeply about her friends and will do anything for ones in need. They compliment each other — Gordon is calm. Jill, not so much. I love these guys.
In or about 2000 they moved from California back to Plato Center, Illinois to help with Gordon’s folks. They moved into Gordon’s childhood farmhouse and soon began raising alpacas. I don’t think I knew anything about these beautiful creatures before Jill and Gordon began raising them, but when you visit Rivendell Alpacas, you can learn as much or as little as you want. Jill and Gordon love to teach people about their herd, as well as alpacas in general.
This past summer we heard that one of the alpacas living at Rivendell farm (a temporary border — not one from the regular herd) had just given birth. I’d never seen a newborn alpaca, called a cria, before so we jumped at the chance to see one.
Rivendell Farm has several pens that hold the resident alpacas. One near the house held the male alpacas and when we walked over to see the rest of the alpacas the males stood so they could get a good look at the females. I was waiting for the wolf whistles from these boys.
The Boys
We saw the newborn as soon as we walked into the pen that held some of the females. The mother made small warning sounds, but didn’t get too upset when we got near her baby.
Two females and the 1-day old cria
I was surprised to see the youngest alpaca walking around so confidently. I also expected it to be much smaller. I don’t remember why it had its ears wrapped in white gauze. Maybe Jill or Gordon will comment and remind me. Right behind the baby is the communal poop pile (I’m sure it has an official name).
The Cria
We visited with the alpacas in this pen for a while, feeding them grain from a bucket. Some got close to us, close enough for us to bury our hand in their soft coats, but some stayed farther away. Before we moved on I caught a shot of Jill and the tiny alpaca nose-to-nose.
Jill and a friend
When we went to the next pen we were treated to two young alpacas — born earlier in the summer — who loved to pick on each other. Gordon picked up one of them and brought it to us to feel and admire soft coat. Jill and Gordan gave us a primer on the types fleece and which kinds are preferred. Some are smoother than others — some are crinkly. All, I think, are warm.
We visited with the herd for a while longer then moved on to tour the rest of the farm. We picked blackberries — which I later made into a rather tart pie, played with the kittens and checked out Jill’s latest works of wearable art.
My mom, feeling generous that day, bought all of us a souvenir from the visit. Clare chose a felted fleece hat, Dean and Andrew each chose knit hats with braids (Alpaca, but not made by Jill), Brandon picked out some wool gloves, also not made by Jill. I found beautiful a scarf. Not alpaca (bamboo!), but made by Jill.
[Note: Gordon explained the white tape on the ears of the cria on my facebook page and added a bit about the youngster:
The cria in the picture was born with his ears folded back, and the tips were turned inside-out. A week with the tape restored the ears to their “normal” shape.
This little boy belongs to our friends the Davis’s. We were alpaca-sitting for them when he was born. He’s one of the friendliest alpacas we’ve seen, as the picture demonstrates.]
About 9 years ago I realized I’d never spent the night in a motel / hotel room by myself and it bothered me. I’d eaten at a restaurant by myself. I’d seen a movie in a theater by myself. I’d traveled by air, train & car by myself. I felt that the next step to independence was to spend a night in a motel room by myself. I sort of obsessed on it for a few years. Then I forgot about it and moved on to other obsessions.
Not my hotel
So when I found myself getting too sleepy to drive another 5 hours last week on my way to visit my relatives in Mississippi and stopped for the night in at the Comfort Inn in Chattanooga, Tennessee I didn’t immediately remember that I’d never stayed in a motel or hotel alone until I was sitting on the love seat of my room eating take-out from a nearby fast food restaurant.
I think the hotel is relatively new — the room was clean and didn’t have that “hotel room” smell that usually makes me wonder what underlying odor it is covering up. The window opened a little, so I was able to get some fresh air. I didn’t bother turning on the air conditioning — it was warm, but not that warm. I had a king sized bed, a spacious and clean bathroom and as far as I could tell, was the only person on my floor. I had a great view of the mountains as well. I slept well and awoke rested for the remainder of the trip. Breakfast, which was included in the modest price of the room was okay — I’d had better.
On the way back from Mississippi I was not sure I was going to stop along the way to sleep. Had I left my Aunt’s house earlier I might have made it all the way home that night, but when I got within 4 hours of my town I hit a heavy rainstorm. Since I hadn’t eaten dinner I thought it best to stop, eat and get some sleep. I again looked for a Choice Hotel — they’d always been reliable. When I saw that Salem, Virginia had a Quality Inn, I took the exit and checked in at the hotel. The front desk staff person was nice. She asked if I minded facing the pool — I said I didn’t mind and was checked into a room very close to the lobby. I didn’t go to my room right away, but got some take out food instead and brought it back to the hotel. I grabbed my overnight bag and computer from the car and headed to the room. The key didn’t work, nor did the second key I was given. Finally the front desk staff person walked to the room and was able to make the key work after a few tries. I didn’t plan on leaving the room until I left the next morning, so didn’t really worry about whether the key would work when I tried it.
The room smelled like a hotel room — that cloying sweet smell that resembles the smell some public bathrooms have. This room had two double beds and a very small, but clean-enough bathroom whose door would not open all the way. The room itself didn’t feel very clean and the carpet near the wall was noticeably dirty.
The room also had a sliding glass door which led to the courtyard which housed a swimming pool. I opened the door, but quickly closed it and tried to figure out how to lock and secure it. I was able to lock it and pull down a inadequate-looking security bar, but the J-shaped lock wouldn’t fit into its security holder. I fretted about this for a while, but ended up feeling semi-safe.
After eating my take-out food (standing up near the table — I didn’t want to sit on the bed and eat and was too lazy to pull the chair closer to the table) I got ready for bed. It was then I noticed the faint splatter of what looked like either dried blood or dried feces on the wall behind the nightstand. My mind immediately raced through all the slasher movies I’d seen in my youth (not that many, but one would have been enough) and tried to work out how the person had been stabbed so the blood would squirt on the wall between the beds. They would have had to been standing in front of the nightstand — maybe talking on the phone. I wondered if the body was somewhere in the room — I checked under the beds and in the drawers. No corpse. I actually hoped the stain was feces instead. In hindsight I think it might have been cola or root beer on the wall. The vending machine doled out plastic bottles, and a hand-written sign did warn consumers to wait a while before unscrewing the cap. I wasn’t thinking too clearly that night, however.
I did a little work then read some email messages on my cell phone. I couldn’t bring myself to shut off the light near the bathroom — I was still nervous about the security of the sliding glass door — so I tried to fall asleep with the light on. Surprisingly, I did fall asleep rather quickly.
I awoke to a woman’s voice and checked my phone to see what time it was. I thought I’d overslept and the woman was calling a child. The clock on my phone read 3:15. The woman called again, and just as I realized she was saying, “Sir! Sir! Excuse me Sir!” I heard a loud knocking sound from the hotel hallway. I thought the woman was talking to someone in a room close to mine and was knocking on the door. The knocking continued and I wondered if she’d mistaken my room for one that held a man. I walked to the door, calling out, “Who is it”? More knocking, more insistent this time. I asked, “Who is it? What do you want?” Just more knocking. I then realized that I could peek out through the peephole to see who was outside knocking on my door. Since I didn’t have the foresight to grab my glasses before I went to the door, all I know about the person knocking on my door was that it was a man in a long-sleeved dark tee-shirt with writing on the front. I said, “I don’t know you. Go away!” The knocking stopped. The telephone rang. I answered the phone, but no one was on the line.
At this point I was really frightened. Isn’t this when the killer often strikes in slasher movies? I thought maybe he’d gone outside and was going to break into the room through the sliding glass door. Maybe he was already in the room, hiding behind the draperies that covered the door. I hung up the phone and was about to call the front desk when it rang again. This time I shouted, “Who is this? What do you want?” At first there was no answer, then a woman’s voice asked me if I had another guest in my room. I said I did not, but that a man was knocking on the room door. She explained that she just wanted to make sure that he didn’t belong in my room.
I then heard her outside again, asking the man which room he belonged in. He mumbled that he didn’t know.
I came close to packing up and leaving right then, but was more worried about what was outside the room than what might get inside. I turned on the television and then climbed back into bed — sure that I’d not sleep a wink anymore that night. Again I surprised myself by sleeping for a couple more hours — waking to the sound of my alarm clock at 5:30 am.
reek reek reek reek reek reek
I didn’t shower, having seen Psycho several times, ate a quick breakfast (better than the Comfort Inn’s was) and checked out. The front desk staff person, a man this time, asked if everything had been okay. As I began to list the problems, he said, “Oh, I understand you had a little problem last night. So sorry about that. Sorry for the inconvenience.” I replied that I’d been very frightened and he said that the man was found sleeping in the hallway and was drunk or high. He then went on to say that they were concerned about security, but there was nothing they could have done to prevent that — the lobby couldn’t be locked.
So, I’ve had two vastly different nights staying in a hotel alone. I don’t think I’m going to look forward to doing it again anytime soon, thanks to the incident at the Quality Inn of Salem, Virginia.
Clutch Cargo Lips 