A trip south

There is nothing more purely Missouri than paddling a canoe down a cool, cliff-shaded stream. This has been done for literally thousands of years. Missouri itself is named after the Missouri River, which was named after a tribe known as the ouemessourita, or "those who have dugout canoes." There is no state activity (yet...this being an election year things change fast), but if there were, it would surely be canoeing. With that in mind we packed the SUV to the hilt and headed south down 63, staying on that highway after hitting Jefferson City, a rarity for most Columbians. The ultimate destination was the Big Piney, near Ft. Leonard Wood but the drive proved almost as enjoyable as the time on the water.

Highway 63, after leaving behind the "suburbs" of Jefferson City, develops into a winding affair as it meanders south and southeast towards Rolla and beyond. You feel far from home after barely 45 minutes on the road. Ozark foothills reach to the horizon in a rolling, verdant carpet. Quaint, sleepy little towns briefly interrupt the serenity every thirty miles or so, sharp church steeples shooting skyward. Westphalia, Koeltztown, Freeburg, Vichy and Vienna attest to the area's central European - and particularly German - roots and none is home to more than 700 people.

This part of Missouri was settled in the mid-19th century by German immigrants - particularly Catholics - drawn by the promise of cheap land, religious freedom and a climate hyped as mirroring their native Rhine. It proved close enough and highly agreeable to growing wine, if not much else. The "Missouri Rhineland" was born and the Show Me State became the number two producer of wine in the nation until Prohibition came along and ruined the fun for everybody. Only in the past two or three decades have we begun to recover this proud legacy.

Lunch at the Vienna Drive-In should be avoided, however. Things fried (like green beans) and frozen (an Oreo "concrete" made strangely with melty soft-serve) were fine, everything else not so much (flat, lifeless burgers...canned chili). Margie's Cafe across the street was a beehive of activity Sunday afternoon, an inauspicious counterpoint to our sad, one-teen customership at the drive-in, proving once again that road trippers who fail to heed the unposted signs as well as the posted ones will get burned with crappy, depressing food.