Cape Girardeau History and Photos

July 9, 2012

Old Jackson Road

These pictures were taken at the intersection of County Roads 618, 620 and 306. Let me tell you how we got there.

When we moved out on Kingsway Drive, we – like most folks – called it Old Jackson Road. If you didn’t take Highway 61 through the 10-Mile Rose Garden to get from Cape to Jackson, you’d go by way of Old Jackson Road. You’d coast down from our house near Kurre Lane, make a sweeping right-hand curve past the Cape La Croix Creek concrete marker (it’s been moved) and keep on going. There was no such thing as Lexington in those days.

Girls sure were careless.

Just before you got to where Route W turns to the right, you’d cross an old steel bridge over 3-Mile Creek (where there was a deep swimming hole). It’s concrete these days and the water’s too shallow to swim.Thinking back on it, that area might have been used for more than swimming. We boys were mystified about how so many girls lost their underwear there.

After you passed the Seabaugh farm on the left, you’d curve around to go through the Houck Railroad Cut that features prominently in Steinhoff family lore. (Dynamite was involved.)

618 is closed for construction

Finally, you’d come to a place where you had to turn left to go over I-55. That’s the intersection of 618, 620 and 306. That’s where the first picture with the Road Closed sign was taken. If you went straight, you’d climb a short hill, then plunge down a steep hill with a sharp curve at the bottom. That’s significant because the last time I did that ride on my bike, I didn’t realize I could go that fast. When I hit the curve I became very aware of how tiny, tiny my bike tires were and how much it was going to hurt if I misjudged the curve and painted the blacktop with skin crayon.

If you survived the curve, soon you’ve find yourself staring at – and being stared BACK at – by the exotic animals that inhabited 5H Ranch. BUT, we couldn’t go that way Saturday because of the Road Closed sign.

Abandoned quarry

If you made the left turn and crossed I-55, you’d enter a curve that swept to the right and downhill. On the left was where Bill Hampton lived. His family owned Hampton’s Bakery on Broadway across from Houck Stadium. Bill shot our wedding in 1969. Just before you crossed a bridge at the bottom of the hill, there was a hill with an abandoned quarry cut into it.

You can tell from this cut why they hadn’t bothered to work it much. There’s some limestone, but it’s not of very good quality. The quarry would have been off to the left behind the trees in this photo. The road to it has been overgrown for years. About a half mile down the road was the turnoff to Old McKendree Chapel.

Hill has been taken down

Looks like the hill has been taken down enough that the ride down 618 isn’t going to be as exciting as it was.

View back to Cape

You can see how much the grade has been flattened in this photo looking back toward Cape. It’ll be easier to climb on icy days (and on my bike).

It’s not just concrete

You’re driving on more than concrete when you go down the road” there’s an awful lot of steel in that slab. I hate to think how much of that rebar I humped one hot summer.

July 8, 2012July 8, 2012

Allenville Fish Feeling Heat

Even though Cape temperatures hit 103 to 107 (depending on the sign) Mother and I went exploring in the Allenville area. I wanted to see how hard it would be to get to the Allenville railroad bridge that’s been in the news of late. In the process, I took pictures of the St. Louis Iron Mountain Railway tracks when I came across their crossings south of Dutchtown. They’ll be part of another story.

When we headed south out of Allenville on County Road 238, we came around a curve to see a pickup truck sitting in the middle of the one-lane bridge over the Diversion Channel. Well, it might be two-lane, but they’d have to be two bicycles or two REALLY friendly cars. Based on the skid marks and the way the guard rail is a little wavy, I’d say that some vehicles have not met those requirements. (Click on the photos to make them larger.)

After a short pause, the truck crossed the bridge, we gave each other the wave you do in the country, and we went down Hwy N to check the railroad bridge. Looks like it’s going to be easier to get to it from the south than from Allenville.

Signs with bullet holes worry me

On the way back north, I decided to stop to shoot some pictures of the road bridge.

There must be members of a “well regulated militia” running around Allenville enjoying their Second Amendment rights to shoot at road signs where bullets would strike an oncoming car if they miss (or, based on the number of through and through holes even if they HIT the sign).

View downstream

This is where much of the water being drained out of Swampeast Missouri goes on its way to the Mississippi River just south of Cape. If the Mississippi backs up or there’s a lot of rain, this ditch could be 15+ feet higher.

Greens make it look cool

Don’t let those greens fool you. My shirt was soaked with sweat when I got back to the car. This is looking upstream.

Holy Cow! Look at the fish!

Now I see why the pickup truck was stopped on the bridge. The hot weather and low water brought what I assume to be hundreds of carp to the surface. Fish that could easily go 2-1/2 to three feet were snurfling along the surface like goldfish in a tank. (It’s worth clicking on these shots to make them larger.)

For you folks who complain that you never see a photo of me, that’s my shadow. I think it’s a pretty good likeness.

Turtle comes up for gulp of air

A pretty good-sized turtle surfaced for a bite of air, then slipped back under water.

Open mouths

I bet most of these fish could swallow a softball without straining too much. The bright object in the right center of the picture is a leaf floating downstream.

July 7, 2012

Heat is Making Me Cranky

I went to Sharon Woods Hopkins‘ Killerfind book launch Friday night. I’ll post a review in a couple of days after I’ve had a chance to read it. Here’s a review of her earlier book, Killerwatt.

While I was wandering around in the gallery where the book signing was held, a fellow walked up to me and said something to the effect of “do you know what you’re doing with that thing?” referring to my camera.

I gave my stock answer, “Sometimes I get lucky, stumble and happen to hit the shutter button when the camera is pointed at just the right direction.”

“If you hold the button down, you’ll have a better chance,” he advised.

(As always, you can make the photo larger by clicking on it. Just don’t hold down the button: it won’t make it any better.)

It’s more than holding down the button

That’s one of the biggest misconceptions a lot of people have. “People who do that,” I said, growing a bit testy, “manage to miss THE picture. They get a frame before the peak of action and a frame AFTER the peak of action because they’re letting the camera do the thinking for them.”

“Not if you’re shooting 17 frames a second,” the guy persisted. Our conversation wrapped up shortly after that. Sometimes you have to recognize early that some folks go to a different church than you do.

I wandered across the street to the Art Council gallery to see if Sis-in-Law Marty Riley was there. She said she had a waterfall painting hanging she particularly liked. I missed her, but enjoyed the waterfall.

High-falutin’ faldorol

Nightmarish feelings of Ohio University’s Fine Arts program washed over me in the gallery. I paused to read one artist’s mission statement and thought, “You gotta be kidding me.” It turned out that I actually liked his work, despite the high-falutin’ faldorol he had written explaining the project.

My feeling is that a photo or piece of art should stand on its own. Having to explain the “meaning” of a photograph is like having to explain the punchline of a joke. Either it works or it doesn’t. Words can tell you the story behind the photo, but the image has to stand on its own merits.

OK, enough rant about that.

Sudden rush of art to the heart

Maybe it was the sudden rush of art to the heart or I might have been light-headed from the heat, but I started walking down Main Street in an artsy-fartsy frame of mind. The first thing I spotted was this brick wall that had been painted white, red and black.

In class, somebody would go off on a tangent about how the vertical lines in this photograph represent the division in our society, and even THAT segregation is fragmented more by the hierarchical lines separating the vertical polarization. “Nah,” I’d respond “It is a white brick wall that somebody painted red and black stripes on.”

I’m a Joe Friday kind of photographer: “Just the facts, Mam.”

Like playing scales on a piano

Then I started seeing the late afternoon reflections in the windows on the west side of the street. I’m not going to pretend these are art. They were just finger exercises like somebody playing scales on a piano.

(I wish it had been dark enough that the street light had come on. That would have made the photo better.)

OK, THIS offends me

How can you take a classic, landmark building and tart it up with a cheesy sign?

Why are you shooting THIS?

I was on my knees trying to see if there was a picture worth taking of the sprinkler pipes (there wasn’t), when I sensed someone standing near me. A woman’s voice asked, not unkindly, “Of all the pretty things there are in town, why are you shooting THIS?”

Standing up as gracefully as I could (not very), I gave her my standard National Geographic speech: “National Geographic photographers stand on trash cans to shoot roses; I trample roses to shoot trash cans.”

We chatted a bit about downtown Cape (she thinks there are too many bars), then I said, “I’m Ken, by the way.”

I’m Bambi (the Yarn Bomber)

“I’m Bambi,” she responded, shaking my proffered hand.

We talked a bit more, then I just had to ask, “Is you name REALLY Bambi?”

“If I said it was ‘Dr. Bambi,’ would that make it better?” she asked. She was Dr. Bambi Robinson, a SEMO prof.

Then, she dropped the bomb: SHE was Cape’s Yarn Bomber. SHE’S the one who did the work that appeared on benches and supports on Main Street. “There were more, but they were stolen.”

Before we parted, she told me how to find the infamous Cardiac Hill and the Gum Tree (it was in a different place than I had remembered it). I’ll have pictures of those later on.

Temperatures better start dropping soon. It’s getting kitten-kicking hot out here. [That’s just an expression, not something I would ever think of doing.]

July 6, 2012March 27, 2016

St. Vincent’s Church at Sunset

While we were waiting for the full moon and fireworks, Mother and I cruised the downtown area. The green lights on St. Vincent de Paul Catholic Church (always referred to as St. Vincent’s) caught my eye as the sun was going down. Click on the photos to make them larger.