Quincy IL – Dogwood City

April 28, 2008 by 9 Comments

Dogwoods Accent the Skies

Travel down the streets in Quincy. Illinois on a spring day and you’ll see why it’s been recognized as a Tree City USA.

Pink Dogwoods

During the annual Dogwood Festival, the Dogwood trees seem to compete in their own beauty pageant. Every yard seems to sport its own tree, a mixture of creamy white blossomed trees and the more familiar pink Dogwood flowers.

The annual Dogwood Festival will be held next weekend, May 2 through 4, 2008, though I should be returned to my home in Madison by that time. I’m anxious to see what the last blast of winter did to my just-peeking-out bulbs and perennials, not to mention my own flowering trees.

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Bleeding Hearts and Memories

April 27, 2008 by 18 Comments
Bleeding Hearts

Bleeding Hearts

This is the very bleeding heart plant I loved as a child. Returning to my hometown to tie up loose ends this week, I made a stop at my childhood home.

Each Spring my grandmother and I would eagerly watch this plant from the back porch, awaiting the blooming of the little hearts. Today I made an unplanned visit to the old house and found the bleeding hearts blooming bravely, standing amidst all the old memories.

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Crossing the Muddy Mississippi

April 4, 2008 by 13 Comments

Across the Mississippi River

I have traveled across this bridge my entire life. Here, the bluff city of Quincy, Illinois is attached by steel girders and pavement to Missouri. I have traveled across this bridge to visit relatives in Hannibal and Palmyra, to take trips to St. Louis for shopping and Cardinals’ baseball games, to buy gasoline (Missouri’s gas tax is enough less than Illinois’ to make the trip financially worthwhile) and to catch the Amtrak in West Quincy when I went to college in Chicago.

Now I cross it when I travel from my home to my hometown. (I live in Wisconsin, but believe me, it is faster to travel Wisconsin-Iowa-Missouri-Illinois, than it is to head due south through Illinois.) Last weekend I crossed this bridge once again. I had never before taken notice of the brilliant blue of the bridge structure contrasting with the road, nor the red brick buildings climbing the bluffs in the distance. But then, never before had I traveled the country’s roads with a camera resting by my side.

Why is it I see so much more by adding a camera into the formula?

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