The raindrop began forming when water vapor condensed on small particles of dust, then fell as more millimeter-sized droplets attached themselves. The raindrop soon became too heavy to remain in the cloud and fell to earth, where it somehow found the hair on the back of my head. Instead of sticking, it moved down my neck, before sliding to the front of my shirt.
"It's about to rain again," I said to Liz, who promptly opened the umbrella."Just one picture -- next to the museum plaque," Liz smiled. She quickly ran across the street and stood under the protective shelter of the umbrella. "Hurry up, then we can go inside where it's dry."
"Too late for me!" I snapped the picture then headed toward the side door of the red brick and limestone building, hoping to avoid more of those rapidly forming raindrops.
It had been a wet start to the weekend, with rain on Friday night, some more on Saturday morning, and now as we approached the lunch hour.
We had traveled to Lansing, Iowa -- hoping to take the pontoon boat to the small town located 34 miles south of La Crosse on the Mississippi River. But as the rain had fallen throughout the week -- and then with a forecast of more rain throughout the weekend -- we opted to take the car instead.
Our carefully made plans changed from leisurely boating on the river, to driving inland, into the rural heart of northeastern Iowa, where one-hundred and fifty years ago young families of German, Norwegian, Dutch and Czech heritage settled in the new world in small towns like Guttenberg, Lansing, Decorah and our current destination: Spillville.
Spillville, a predominately Czech village founded in 1854, is a picturesque village with an Old World atmosphere that radiates hospitality from neatly kept yards, gardens, and a city square. The town of 365 people is the home of the Inwood Ballroom, which hosted popular musicians like Louis Armstrong, Glenn Miller, Guy Lombardo and The Byrds. The town is surrounded by gently rolling hills and the Turkey River which meanders past the St. Wenceslas Church and cemetery, where many of it citizens lie in peaceful rest. The great Czech composer, Antonin Dvorak, even spent a summer in Spillville when he wanted a break from the business of New York City. He claimed the town and surrounding area reminded him of his home in Czechoslovakia.
It is also here that the Bily (pronounced bee-lee) Brothers, Frank and Joseph, became famous as hand carvers of unique wood clocks in the early 20th century. Visitors called them clocks, but in reality they were some of the most beautiful, unique, intricate timepieces ever designed by untrained hands.
Their story begins on a simple farm, eight miles from Spillville. As the children of John and Mary Bily, who moved to America from Prague, Czechoslovakia, they worked on the farm like most kids of the time, helping with the endless tasks that needed attention using human or animal power. In their spare time and during the long winter months, the Bily brothers began carving as a hobby. Their father thought it was a complete waste of time, but their mother -- who enjoyed art -- did all she could to encourage it. They reached a compromise where the boys would only carve during the winter when there was less farm work for them to do.
Joe and Frank had an older brother who figures into the story of the famous clocks that the brothers would one day create. Jonathan was mentally and physically handicapped, and confined to a wheelchair. A neighbor came over with a clock which he had carved but which was not working properly. The brothers were well known for their carpentry skills, so the neighbor asked for their help in installing the proper mechanism into the clock. As the two brothers worked on the clock, they noticed Jonathan was completely captivated as they worked, and seemed happy when the clock made noises. It was partly because of their older brother, and his reaction that they began carving clocks in the winter of 1913.
For almost forty-five years, the boys carved without nails or screws or training, and with homemade glue. So remarkable was their talent, that in 1928, Henry Ford offered them one million dollars for a single clock. The clock, known as the American Pioneer History Clock consists of fifty-seven panels of American history, including the four stages of man, the Constitution, Christopher Columbus, various native Americans and pioneers. The clock took three years to complete, weighs more than 500 pounds and stands over nine feet tall.
How was it possible for two bachelors -- who never traveled more than 35 miles from home with nothing more than a fifth-grade education -- to create more than forty beautiful pieces of art and two church music boxes that have become museum pieces?
Well, the talent was obviously there to begin with. They were tremendous readers, who learned of the world not through television or computers, but through books, pictures and records. Their mother subscribed to The New York Times, Des Moines Register and Chicago Sun-Times. Their personal library contained more than 200 books containing information from around the United States, South America, Europe and Asia. They always carved, even as school boys. Frank's schoolroom desk, transformed by his knife into a plaque depicting the holy family framed by vines and olives, was presented to their mother on her 50th birthday.
The rest, as they say, is history.
Their first clock -- the Creation Clock -- featured Adam and Eve and was made from mahogany and white holly. Early clocks used woods from South America, Europe and Asia. Later, the brothers were able to use woods found nearby like black walnut, ash and butternut.
Their second clock -- called the Hall Clock -- is the only one to play jazz music. The first three or four clocks were patterned after other clocks, but with personal touches. From that point on, the clocks became their own creations featuring themes as complex as immigration, industrialization and hope for the American experiment.
With the interest shown by Henry Ford in the Pioneer clock, visitors from around the state started arriving at the farm. So many, in fact, that the Bily brothers complained that they were too busy to carve when the number of visitors to see their clocks reached 896 people in one day. In an effort to curb the number of visitors and allow the boys to go back to carving clocks, the family decided to charge 10 cents admission. It failed to stop the crowds and the interest being generated by these one of a kind creations, and for the next 22 years, the family hosted up to 1,000 visitors per day at their farm.
The clocks were eventually moved to town in 1947 after Frank and Joe bought the old home where the composer Dvorak had spent his summer in 1893. Despite repeated attempts from the Smithsonian Institute and officials at the World Fair, the brothers continued creating, carving and hosting visitors in their hometown museum. Joe Bily died in 1964, Frank died one year later. The brothers willed their entire collection to the City of Spillville with only one stipulation: the collection would never be sold and never split up.
To this day, the collection endures.
This unique and complimentary union of music and art eventually led to the Bily Museum which recently underwent an $8 million renovation. Today, it stands as a testimony of their immense talent and a relentless quest to understand the world and its history. For the 20,000 visitor each year, it provides an opportunity to get lost in time and see their creations still functioning as when they were made.
Driving back to Lansing, through Decorah and New Albin, it strikes me that these visits to small towns and cities along the Mississippi River are validation of my life growing up in the Midwest. Despite being referred to as "fly over country" by many on the East and West coasts, I find the history of the people and small towns in Wisconsin, Minnesota and Iowa fascinating.
For too many people, finding the shortest route between two locations involves the interstate highway and their requisite Kwik Trip gas stations and McDonald fast food restaurants. Our journeys to Europe and Ireland have taught me a great deal about world history, and I am finally, now in my late fifties, starting to appreciate my own country's history by learning about the small towns that are nestled in many parts of the Mississippi River basin.
My friends will always say that I am old school, reluctant to embrace new technologies. (I must admit that I take great pleasure in not following Twitter or Facebook Live, or not knowing what the Kardashian sisters are doing). And much to the dismay of my wife and friends, I spend many a day wondering where my cell phone is.
Whether that attitude is good or not, it doesn't diminish my love for a simpler time. Not necessarily better, but one that seems happier. The clocks created by the Bily brothers are examples of those times and their lifetime dedication to something they loved. I am learning through the lives of others and the communities they lived in what it means to be from the Midwest.
Unplanned weekends spent in northeastern Iowa are testimony to that discovery.
