Kansas

Monday 2nd November

So into Kansas, Carolyn’s home State, and to Wichita, the place of her birth.

We set off from the Lake of the Ozarks in sunny, mild weather, driving along minor roads by the Harry S. Truman Reservoir, created by the damming of the Grand and Osage Rivers. Mercifully, all development is prohibited in the area, so it was an attractive and relaxing drive, with minimal traffic. There was evidence of significant flooding from the recent storms. We encountered several people from surrounding areas who had come to check the progress of the floodwaters – it seemed to be a routine, daily activity, which reflected both the importance of the water system in their lives and a lack of much else to do in such an isolated area!

We crossed the state line into Kansas on Highway 54, near Fort Scott. After winding through the lakes area in Missouri, route 54 cuts long straight lines across the Kansas prairies. It is a primary route, but not a freeway.. There are only 4 or 5 multi-lane highways crossing Kansas, which is roughly the size of England and Wales, but with only about a fortieth of the population. Most of the freeways run west and southwest out of Kansas City which is, in fact, largely in Missouri.

The land in western Missouri and eastern Kansas is mostly used for beef or dairy cattle farming. We were struck by the very large amount of hay which had been cut and stored, and the quite small herds of cattle (particularly beef cattle) which, presumably, were to be fed with it. We assumed that the number of cattle was depleted either because many had been sent to slaughter prior to winter and that the herds would be restocked with calves in the early spring, or that the market for beef is currently depressed. The herds increased in size as we moved further west, but were never large. This area was the scene of the great cattle drives from Texas in the 19th century, for the fattening of the cattle before they were loaded on to trains to be transported to the growing populations on the east coast and in Chicago. Apparently the reason for the prairies’ importance for cattle is that the bluestem grass which grows there is very rich in minerals.

In the last 50 miles or so before reaching Wichita, more of the land was devoted to crop farming, particularly maize, though the condition of it suggested that it was still intended for animal feed rather than human consumption.

The small town of Eureka, which Philip recalled as being mentioned in accounts of the “wild west” (including, perhaps, a few cowboy movies) did not live up to its promising name. It had clearly seen better days in the past, but now appears to be depressed and shabby, despite some desultory attempts to brighten the place up. Nearing Wichita, the towns became much more prosperous, showing the benefit of the last two decades of economic growth and little indication of the recent recession.



As we approached the city of Carolyn’s birth, we were treated to a magnificent sunset, with beautiful cloud patterns and extraordinary colour changes, in the huge, open prairie sky. It was very different from our last visit here, 34 years ago, when the daytime temperature was around 40 degrees C. and there was the most intense electrical storm we’ve ever encountered.

Tuesday 3rd – Wednesday 4th November

Wichita is promoted as the “Magic city of the Plains” and is the biggest city in Kansas, with about 350,000 people. It’s an attractive town, with imaginative infrastructure development and architecture on a human scale. Its name is derived from the Wichita confederation of American Indian tribes who suffered the same shameful treatment by the US Government as many other tribes did, of being forced off their ancestral lands and settled in the area around the confluence of the Little Arkansas and Big Arkansas Rivers, before being resettled in reservations far south and west. The modern history of the city lies in the early days of the “wild west”, with the provision of facilities and supplies for the cattle drovers from Texas and the farmers on the surrounding plains, facilitated by the arrival of the railroad. Later, there was also some small-scale oil extraction (some abandoned) and early involvement in the development of aviation. A slogan in the city is “from plains to planes”, as Wichita is home to a number of aircraft companies, including Cessna, Piper and Beechcraft and the site of manufacturing facilities for others, such as Boeing. It was also a major area for the training of US Air Force pilots in the Second World War. We were told an apochryphal story of an Air Force officer who, when asked why so much of the training was carried out locally, replied “because there aren’t too many hills for them to hit”. Of nowhere else is this more true - Wichita and the surrounding area is pretty much entirely flat.

We were visiting Wichita partly to visit Carolyn’s uncle-in-law, Ken and his partner, Flo. As well as catching up with them on family matters, Carolyn and I visited a couple of museums and went to see The Keeper of the Plains, an imposing stylised statue within a display about the Amerindians, built at the confluence of the rivers. Every night, for 15 minutes, large gas burners are lit around the statue, creating a “Ring of Fire”. It’s quite impressive, even if there is a slight sense of tokenism and idealisation about it.




After visiting a new and very attractive Quaker Meeting House just outside Wichita, we looked around the Friends’ University, where Ken, Flo and Carolyn’s mother and aunt all attended as students. By an extraordinary coincidence, Flo and Carolyn’s mother had been in the same sorority, though a couple of years apart. Flo remembered Carolyn’s mother feeding her with a cracker spread with a proprietary cold and cough medicine, as an initiation rite! There was also an unexpected pleasure in looking through university yearbooks from the early 1940s and finding records and photographs of Carolyn’s mother and uncle.

Eating lunch in the university cafeteria gave us an interesting, if noisy reminder of our own student days, and neatly counterbalanced our first, very quiet experience of sleeping in the housing complex for elderly folk, where Ken and Flo live.

Rather unwisely, we sampled the evening entertainment on offer at the impressive Century II auditorium – Wicked!, a musical of a side story of The Wizard of Oz which had recently been on Broadway. It was a polished, highly professional production and mildly amusing, but it reminded us why we don’t usually “do” musicals.