The family visits were over and the day had arrived for Joanna to fly back to Vermont and for me to begin my long drive South. I love to get an early start, and if I had to drive in the dark during these short winter days I’d rather be behind the wheel in pre-dawn darkness than arrive somewhere at night. I kissed my sleepy sweetie goodbye and tiptoed out of our AirBnB, heading south. My plan that that day was to follow the Missisippi South into Iowa and Illinois, winding up in Galena, an abandoned lead-mining town that friends had told me was worth a look. Along the way I hoped to get a first taste of the long river that would take me to New Orleans. The sun rose as I passed through Rochester, home of the Mayo Clinic, and I soon was the tangle of islands and waterways that divides Minnesota from Wisconsin.
Shortly after Lacrosse, Wisconsin appeared on the East bank, I noticed a parking area with people peering out across the river. One of my person road rules: if people are out of their cars and staring into the distance, I stop. I pulled over and a sign told me this was the Upper Mississippi National Wildlife Reserve. The crowd was gazing at what looked to me like the largest flock of geese I’d ever seen. I watched with them for a while and took a few pictures, then wandered over to the interpretive kiosk where I learned that they were not geese, but swans. It was one of those “We’re not in Kansas any more Toto” moments.
The rest of the day was spent driving down the big river and wishing I had more time to linger and explore. This place is known as “The Driftless Area,” a region that straddles Minnesota, Illinois, Iowa and Wisconsin. It was never touched by the glaciers of the last ice age, its hills and valleys never flattened out or filled with the silt and gravel known as “glacial drift” leaving it a rough and rocky place.
One Iowa site I wanted to see was the Effigy Mounds National Monument, a good place for a hike and first glimpse of the native history that I’d be seeing later. In a few days I’d visit a place we know as Cahokia, the ruins of what was once a large and thriving Native American city. Cahokia rose around the years 1000 to 1350, but the earthen structures here were from several centuries earlier. The hundreds of mounds preserved here are built in the shape of bears, birds, turtle, bison, water spirits, panthers, snakes, and other animals. Some of these mounds are the site of burials, others seem to have served some other ceremonial function. We don’t know a lot about the people who built them or what their function was – something I’d hear again and again as I explored the Mississippi Valley. Colonization bought plagues, genocidal wars, and a genuine “cancel culture” that succeeded in erasing much of the regions history, culture and legacy.
I climbed up a gentle path through a leaf-shaded but bright oak forest, passing Great Bear and Little Bear Mound. The trail led to a series of overlooks. The first, called Eagle Rock offered a dramatic view. I was looked down at the Mississippi from a steep cliff. From here the river was a green tangle of islands, lakes, hills, wetlands and side-streams slicing a confused and messy but relentless way between Iowa and Wisconsin just above where it met the Wisconsin River.
This site and these mounds are considered a sacred spot by the Ho-Chunk Nation and other and other Midwestern tribes, and I saw prayer ties hanging from the overlook’s railing. These are bundles of cloth wrapped around a small offering of tobacco. The Ho-Chunk, Seminole, Lakota, and other place these in sacred places. The four squares of cloth that form the wrapping are said to represent the four directions.
After a bit more hiking and a few more scenic views, I headed down then river, then crossed it to Prairie du Chien, Wisconsin mostly because I liked the name (which locals pronounce “Prairie Da Sheen”). There wasn’t much for me to see there, and I decided that my next stop would be back on the Iowa side. In Dubuque I could visit what was billed as “The Shortest and Steepest Railroad in the World.”
That name may be Chamber of Commerce hype. The “Fenelon Place Elevator” is technically a funicular (a steep railway with two cars that counterbalance each other, joined by a cable) rather than a railroad, and there are other funiculars that lay claim to being shorter or steeper, but it was still worth the visit. Built in the late 1800s by a local banker so he could avoid a long carriage ride to lunch at his hilltop home, it was eventually made into a public attraction. I entered the wooden car at the tiny station and, following the instructions on the sign, pulled a chain to ring a bell. There was an operator at the top of the hill who started things up. I rolled up the steep hill, watching the other car rolling down past me.
At the top I paid my fare and turned to enjoy the view. It was impressive, looking down on Dubuque and across the river to both Wisconsin and Illinois. I wandered a bit around the toney hilltop neighborhood. Still a place where a bank president would feel at home, then rode the car back down. The sun was already low in the sky, but a short drive South and East brought me to Galena in time to check into my hotel and explore the downtown a bit before darkness fell.
I was planning to put in a day of work from my hotel room on Wednesday 1, so I planned on two nights in Galena.
The town is named for the shiny lead sulfide crystals found there. These crystals were traded up and down the Mississippi Valley by pre-Columbian mound cultures, probably used for jewelry or to make some kind of glitter body paint. When the French, then the Americans arrived they mined it as a lead ore, vital for making the bullets and cannonballs they hurled at each other2. Galena became a boom town – the largest Mississippi steamboat hub above St. Louis and for a while a bigger city than Chicago. But by the mid 1800s there was less demand for the ore.
When railroads replaced the river for transport the city went into decline, only reviving in the early 21st century. That’s when locals realized the value of its nearly untouched historic district. Galena began promoting tourism, touting its Federal style commercial buildings and Victorian homes and mansions (including the home of Ulysses S. Grant), and its scenic location on the Galena river. Soon enough the city sprouted antique stores, restaurants, quaint bed and breakfasts, souvenir shops and all the trappings, both fair and foul, of a tourist economy.
The combination of short November days, working from my hotel from 9 to 5 and self-imposed COVID precautions made for some frustrating constraints that made it hard for me to appreciate the charms of this town. Not only I was avoiding restaurants and other public places, but I could only see Galena’s architectural treasures at night. My first evening I walked around the downtown and was a little disappointed. The souvenir, fudge, and ice cream shops reminded me of every tourist destination I’d ever visited. It wasn’t until my second evening that I began to appreciate the place. After a day of work, I strolled around and enjoyed the gorgeous old houses, the riverside walkway and Grant park, with a beautiful view of downtown across the river. It was dark by then and I was walking wearing a headlamp, but the holiday lights charmed and cheered me up.
- I’m dabbing my toes rather than diving into this retirement thing, and my former employer was happy to have me work a day or so a week from wherever I found myself.
- A few notes for nerds: 1) It wasn’t just Native Americans. Egyptians ground up Galena to make Kohl, which they used as mascara. 2) Galena is a semiconductor; Old timers built crystal radio receivers using a Galena crystal and a “cat’s whisker” wire to detect the radio waves. 3) It’s the state mineral of Kansas, Missouri, and Wisconsin, but for some reason those ingrates in Iowa never made it theirs.
I built several crystal radios as a kid. I loved the nighttime skip that would bring faraway stations in Chicago an New York to me.