Travels

The traveler sees what he sees.

The tourist sees what he has come to see.

~ G.K. Chesterton

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I was out driving in eastern Iowa and I came across a sign for a historic "Stagecoach Inn."  I drove to the Stagecoach Inn and a woman and the little girl in this picture were carrying wood into the inn.  The woman said, "Are you here for the Halloween thing?"  I looked at her unsurely.  She then asked, "Are you here to see the inn?"  I said that I was if it wasn't inconvenient.  "Well, we have to leave after we bring in the wood, but you can look around."

The girl put down her two logs and immediately began giving me a tour.  There were pieces of candy and Halloween-themed pencils sitting out.  She grabbed a pencil and used it to drum on the artifacts in the Stagecoach Inn as we walked through.  At one point she tried to sharpen her pencil in what looked to be an old meat grinder.

"Is it okay to go upstairs?" I asked.

"It's okay as long as they don't have rooms roped off with signs that say not to go in there."  She said.  She looked at the stairs and then bolted up them, "And I don't see no signs!"

I followed her around.  I asked questions about the inn - how old was it?  Who used to run it?  How long had it been a museum?  She didn't know the answers to any of my questions.

So then I started to pretend like I knew something about what we were seeing - what things had been used for, why the house was built the way it was - things I really knew nothing about.

Then we came to a room and she went into a crawlspace and turned on a hidden light.

"This," she said in a whispery voice, "This is where the children hid when the Indians came."  She went on to point out where they had kept food and toys.  I asked what tribe of Indians came and why they came and why weren't the people at the inn and the Indians friends.

She looked at me for a moment and then said, "See where they hid?  The children hid in here."

I realized that either the story was too painful for her to tell or she didn't know it.  I suspected the latter.

When we were done inside, I walked around outside.  There was an outhouse and I asked her, "So what is that little building for?"  She motioned for me to step closer.  I did.  She whispered, "That's where they would poop."