Heaven for Bare Feet

 

   Sometimes when working to find interesting and off the beaten path travel stories, the suggestions presented to us for research causes one to stop and scratch our heads.  My friends Jackie, Lisa and I encountered one of those head-scratching moments last spring when traveling through southern Indiana.  The itinerary included a stop at The Sock Factory.

   If you’re one of those geeky types who like to see how things work, you’ll be in heaven at the For Bare Feet Factory in Helmsburg, Indiana. Hundreds of different kinds of machines doing hundreds of different things all at the same time.

    If you’re one of those sports fanatics who has everything you own, including under garments, etched with colors and imagery of your sports team, you’ll also be in heaven here.

   Or if you’re one of those people who loves a good heart-wrenching story about the love of a parent for her son, the strength of a family and the success of David over Goliath, you’ll never question the presence of heaven again.

   Hopefully, that’s what the editor at American Profile was thinking when he assigned me the story “Knitting Novelty Socks” that appears in the  April 28-May 3 issue of the newspaper insert.

And that’s the story behind this story.

Not Retiring Yet

   It’s funny how stories and experiences run together to help a writer do his/her work.  Living just a few hours north of Branson, Missouri, I’m frequently contacted to do stories about what’s new and exciting in the music and entertainment phenomenon of the Missouri Ozarks.  In a few weeks, I’ll be heading to Branson on assignment for both the Kansas City Star and the Dallas Morning News.

   Last year, it was SkyWest magazine that wanted a story about the 100^th anniversary of the release of The Shepherd of the Hills, the Harold Bell Wright novel that painted such an intriguing picture of the Ozarks that travelers from around the world came to southwest Missouri to experience it for themselves.

   However, when Where to Retire magazine contacted me, they didn’t want a story from Branson, but instead Springfield, Missouri.  About 40 miles north of Branson, Springfield is considered the gateway to the Ozarks and is greatly influenced by the traffic that passes through the city en route to Branson.

   I, too, had been guilty of not giving Springfield enough attention in my travels, so I thoroughly enjoyed a couple of rather cold, but fun-filled days there last January.  When I sat down to write my story about why Springfield is so popular among retirees, I kept thinking about Dad Howitt, the lead character in The Shepherd of the Hills.  Dad Howitt was probably the first person to come to the southern Ozarks for rest, relaxation and rejuvenation in the latter half of his life.

    So that became the lead to my story.  To read the entire story, pick up a copy of the May issue of Where to Retire, or buy a copy on-line at www.wheretoretire.com.  And when you’re finished reading my story, read the one entitled Nirvana in the Northeast by Mary Bergin.  She’s a fellow writer and good friend from Madison, Wisconsin.

   But neither Mary nor I are retiring any time soon.  There are too many great stories yet to write.

Lights, Camera, Action.

  Good travel writing conveys a sense of place, the qualities of a unique destination told through otherwise mundane experiences.

   These fundamentals bounced through my head as my laptop and I sat on the lanai of my beachfront condo on O’ahu’s North Shore, attempting to craft a story.  The palm trees swayed in the warm breeze under perfect blue skies, the expanse of the Pacific Ocean, blah, blah, blah.  I was in paradise.

   Another rule of good travel writing – avoid clichés.

   Fortunately, at least on this particular occasion, not all of the stories I generate during my travels are for travel specific publications.  There’s a small publication group right here in Parkville that does a number of specialized trade publications, including one for restaurant owners and managers. The name is simply Restaurant Start-Up & Growth, and the magazine is often found under the business heading at the magazine section of many bookstores.

    It’s for them I have the opportunity to visit some unusual restaurants during my travels, but instead of highlighting the restaurant as a great stop for travelers, I write about unique construction, management practices and the like.

   Which is why, when I was in Hawaii at the Turtle Bay Resort, I visited with Chef Fred d’Angelo at Ola.  Lots of things made the restaurant a good story, but that production was underway for the movie “Forgetting Sarah Marshall” and a big scene had just been shot at Ola, made the story even more interesting.

   Turtle Bay Resort and Ola are used to such celebrity.  The grounds here are also used as a backdrop for the ABC show “Lost” and Ola hosted the second season DVD release party.

   So go see “Forgetting Sarah Marshall,” but pay particular attention to the restaurant scenes and know that it was the subject of my writing.  But also pay attention to all of the movie shot at Turtle Bay Resort.   It’s a fabulous destination, one that you may want to visit on your own.  Check it out at www.turtlebayresort.com.

  But when you send postcards home, try to avoid the clichés.  It’s the sign of a good travel writer.

I love the Brits

 

    I love the Brits.

  Until my recent visit to the UK, my favorite nationality had been Canadians, due in large part to their inherent sense of humor and universal healthcare.

   It had been some years since I had traveled to Great Britain, and I had forgotten their prominent joie de vivre and their overall congenial manner.  They are simply a cheery people who enjoy nothing more than a good debate over any number of subjects ranging from sports and politics to the quality of a local ale or the appropriateness of a Royal mistress.

   Of course, I had the pleasure of being in the UK when the Brits beat the French in the quarter finals of the Rugby World Cup. Surely, the Duke of Wellington’s defeat of Napoleon at Waterloo now pales in the annals of history to this battle on a pitch in Paris. Nowhere, not even in Boston after the Red Sox broke their 100-year curse to win the 2004 World Series, has pride in a sports team been more fanatical and universal among a citizenry.  Wisconsin cheeseheads should bow their cheddar in deference.

   But no matter how passionate the Brits are with an issue and how varied the opinions of those involved, the exchange remains polite and pleasant, rarely engaging in personal attacks.  The worst I ever heard a Brit call an individual with whom they had taken issue was “a bit of a chump,” and so said with an almost apologetic tone in that pleasant manner of theirs.  My colleague heard a referee called a “wanker” but since we were uncertain exactly what that meant and it was shouted so pleasantly, we assumed the best.

   On the other hand, I knew I was back in the USA when, after passing through customs at O’Hare, I began hearing the F-bomb dropped with startling frequency and a rather sour agent at a besieged airline service counter being addressed in terms that my mother would not approve of.

   I was jostled and shoved and ignored.  No one called me luv.  No one was concerned that I was properly tucked in.  No one offered me tea.  The smell of greasy fast food filled the passenger waiting area where everyone talked too loudly on their cell phones about matters of little importance while CNN discussed the details of the latest congressional sex scandal.

   Oh, it was good to be home.  God Bless America, but if push comes to shove, God Save the Queen.  The Brits will be much more appreciative of the effort.