WI - Sinsinawa Archives

It has rained incessantly since I arrived in Galena, Illinois, 48 hours ago. Just as I am leaving, I am granted a 10-minute reprieve, so I scurry like a crazed squirrel grabbing a few shots of the beautiful downtown historic district.

Galena, Illinois

Back on the Mississippi Great River Road, after stopping at a river overlook and watching a pair of bald eagles spiral up from the misty valley below, I pull back onto the highway and surprise myself by turning north instead of south. It’s not confusion and it isn’t really a decision, it’s just my way of aimless traveling while on this 90-day journey of a raindrop – it’s just “surrendering to serendipity.”

It seems I’m headed to Sinsinawa, about 25 miles north and just across the state line into Wisconsin. All I know about the place, aside from loving the lyrical sound of the name, is that it is home to an order of Dominican Catholic Sisters who reportedly bake very fine bread. Once away from the tall bluffs that line the River, the sky clears and the land flattens out. Precisely cultivated rows, empty now of their bounty, stretch away to infinity on both sides of the road.

Sinsinawa Mound is a surprise – poking inexplicably above the tabletop of farmland around it. It seems, however, perfectly suited to be the home of Sisters pledged to a higher calling. I drive the quiet, shaded campus without seeing anyone and I am not moved to stop until I come upon a cemetery. A s I walk among the long, orderly rows of simple white headstones, reading the names of the Sisters, I wonder about the stories of their lives.

On a small rise just beyond the cemetery, there is a brick pattern of concentric circles that I recognize as a labyrinth. A sign invites anyone to follow the path to the center while praying or meditating. I do, and when I stand in the innermost circle, there is a heightened awareness of all things being in perfect order. Refreshed and content, my visit seems complete.

Labyrinth at Dominican Sisters of Sinsinawa Convent

Just as I reach my car, I hear someone say, “Come over here, will you, and help me a moment.” It’s a voice your mother might have used, or your third grade teacher – respectfully assuming that you will, of course, come immediately and do the right thing. I see her then – a petite woman with curly gray hair, standing beside an upturned bench. “This bench has blown over in the wind,” she says, “and we must set it upright.”

When our chore is complete, she beams up at me with an elfish grin and introduces herself as Sister Janette. We chat a few minutes, then sit together on the bench as she tells me about her community of Sisters and about her job here as the librarian. It turns out that while the Dominican Sisters of Sinsinawa are indeed bakers of bread, they are also bold activists who go wherever they are needed in the world to confront injustice. Since 1847, this order of more than 3,200 courageous women has fearlessly and quietly worked to eliminate racism, human trafficking and any behavior that impinges on human dignity.

Sister Janette’s eyes sparkle as she talks and I feel her spunk and her quiet effervescence. There is a river of subtle, but irrepressible, joy in her that bubbles frequently to the surface in contagious laughter. When I tell her about the 90-day journey of a raindrop, she is so delighted that it makes us both giggle. She asks about places I have been and what lies ahead, relishing each answer. She is, as my grandmother would have said “just plain tickled with the whole idea.” We laugh and talk like old friends, catching up on each other’s lives.

When I give Sister Janette a postcard of the journey, she looks at it quietly for a long time. Finally, she looks up with glowing eyes and says, “You know, Gayle, today is my birthday. This card and this time with you is my birthday present.” The smiles that we share then make my heart feel like it could burst. So this is why I had come – to help a friend celebrate her birthday.

I give her a birthday hug then and ask if I may take her picture. She answers in that “teacherly” no-nonsense voice that leaves no space for disagreement, “Yes, of course. But I shall be holding the postcard.”

First, thank you to everyone who sent good, healthy wishes! I know that it helped and I definitely feel better!

Just across the border from Wisconsin, is Galena, Illinois, a town of about 3500 residents that hosts a million or so tourists each year. They come to shop, eat and tour some of the blocks and blocks of magnificent historic structures. Many of the residential streets above Main Street are so crooked and steep, it’s hard to imagine building anything there. Sometimes the back door of a home is 3 or 4 stories lower than the front door! I found the history of Galena fascinating, but too complex to share with you here – that will have to wait for the book!

I was up and out hoping for a sunrise this morning. There was the briefest bit of lightness, then it clouded up and rained again all day! You may have heard on the news that there is flooding in some places in Minnesota and Wisconsin. In Prairie du Chien where I was a few days ago, they are preparing for possible sandbagging.

I thought I was heading south from Galena, but after a few miles found myself turning around and heading back up toward Sinsinawa, Wisconsin. I couldn’t say why, but I don’t question such things! I knew there was a group of Dominican Catholic Sisters that lived on a hill overlooking the tiny town, but nothing more. It was still early when I arrived and I found I was in a quiet mood, not really interested in going inside, asking questions or introducing myself. So, I just quietly explored the campus and came upon a labyrinth, with a sign explaining its ancient history and its purpose as a tool for walking while praying or meditating. I’ve walked a labyrinth before and found it healing, centering and powerful – so I didn’t hesitate. Afterward, I was both soothed and rejuvenated and felt my visit was complete.

I still hadn’t seen another person anywhere, but as I headed back to my car Sister Janette appeared and asked me to help her pick up a bench that had blown over in the wind. As we stood in the cool morning breeze, she looked up at me with bright, happy eyes and told me a bit about her life in the Dominican community and her job as the Librarian. When I told her of my project and gave her a postcard, she told me today is her birthday and our meeting and the postcard a gift. When I asked to take her photograph, she wanted to be shown holding the postcard.

I left, smiling at the wisdom of Serendipity that brought me here.

I spent several hours in the National Mississippi River Museum in Dubuque, Iowa. If you are not already in awe of this great river (and you probably are or you wouldn’t bother reading this), you will be after spending time there. It’s a part of the network of Smithsonian Museums and has all the quality and depth you would expect from that affiliation. The more I learn about the Mississippi, the more clear it is that in a lifetime one could only scratch the surface of what there is to know.

I landed in Clinton, Iowa, in the still pouring rain, but tomorrow holds promise of sunshine!

That was yesterday – and indeed today dawned bright and shiny – a world washed sparkly clean by all that rain. Although there is no noticeable change yet, there is much speculation about how much the river may rise as the water from up north makes its way downriver.

I’m nearing the southern end of the area known as “The Driftless”. Three times over the millennia, great glaciers pushed their way south over the continent, leveling hills and leaving enormous deposits of rock and silt, know as drift. Due to some geologic stroke of fortune, each time the glaciers split and left a 16,000 square mile area around the Mississippi River valley untouched. As a result, the land formations are ancient and dramatic. The river meanders around islands and marshes in a deep valley bounded by huge bluffs and rock formations. It’s stunning and a terrain which doesn’t exist outside of this area where the states of Minnesota, Wisconsin, Illinois and Iowa meet.

From Lookout Point in Palisades State Park on the Illinois side, I caught a train following the curve of the river and a Turkey Vulture soaring on the wind currents.

And, I loved the solitude of this little island in the late afternoon light.

To top off the day, I wandered some ridge tops, looking for a vantage point to catch the full moon. I couldn’t find anyone to ask, but I’m a firm believer in the philosophy that it’s usually easier to get forgiveness than permission, so I followed a pasture road up a big hill. Eventually there was an iron gate into another pasture and if I had even a moment’s thought of walking beyond that to the crest of the hill, the big bull on the other side nixed that idea! The bull, his cows and I waited for the moon together quietly, each on our own side of the gate. What I love about this shot is that the village lights in the valley were a complete surprise – before darkness nothing was visible but trees.

Time to move on…see you soon!

Gayle

The Birthday Surprise: Roadtripping With a Raindrop Moment #5

Drifting through “The Driftless”