12 Family Adventures in Florida

Welcome to our family!
 
We just got back from the best vacation we have ever been on as an entire family. It is also the furthest we have traveled as a tribe. We packed our bags and flew 2,800 miles to sunny Florida, or so we hoped. August is hurricane season and a spinning storm on the radar could have ruined our trip. But it didn't.
 
It was the first time that three of my kids had flown on an airplane. It was fun to watch them as the jet fired its engine and the g-force glued them to their seats, and as they intently watched through the window the tiny objects on the ground as we flew overhead.
 
There was never a dull moment. For one week we traveled from the Gulf Coast to the Atlantic and had a new experience everyday. We felt true humidity, drove on toll roads, watched for alligators, played croquette in my brother-in-law's back yard, waited in a miserable traffic jam in Orlando and spotted several armadillo road-kills.
 
We learned that Florida is a beautiful state. Rows and rows of tall forest grow along the roads. Swamps and lakes are everywhere. Beaches here have the finest white sand I have ever seen, and there are small, quick lizards everywhere.
 
What follows is a list of our adventures:
 

1. Watching a rocket launch—from 94 miles away! As luck would have it, we were in Florida for the final launch of the Delta IV Medium rocket. The only problem was that we were also at Butler Beach, which is a considerable distance from the Kennedy Space Center. We woke up early enough to be on the beach at 8:45. Jordan watched the live stream on his phone and we all looked toward the south. Billowing clouds hung low in the horizon, but beyond that the skies were clear. We had heard you could see the rocket from this distance, but no one in our group had actually done it. The countdown came, the rocket lifted, and within seconds we could see an arching plume in the southern sky. A couple minutes later came the sonic boom.
 

2. Learning to surf. After watching the rocket launch, it was our turn to learn how to surf. Living in a desert, it is no surprise that no one in our family has ever surfed. Luckily we have friends who live in St. Augustine that were anxious to give us lessons. It didn't look pretty. There were a lot of scrapes and bruises, and very little standing up on the surf board. But our family consensus was that learning to surf was the highlight of our trip. Thanks to Dirk and Wendy for giving us such an experience.
 

3. Eating Key-lime pie. We were told that we had to try the key-lime pie. On our way home from the beach we found a small store advertizing homemade key-lime pie and orange juice ice cream. We had to stop! We were happy to find it because they were closing for the season the next day. We bought one pie and a quart of ice cream and took them back to our Airbnb where they waited in our refrigerator until about midnight when we pulled out the pie and sliced it up. I will admit, I wasn't disappointed.
 

4. Pictures on the beach. Jenelle has always dreamed of having family pictures taken on the beach. Everything came together for the perfect evening! The water was crystal-clear and the storm clouds suppressed their rain. The sunset radiated majestically. The girls were beautiful. On our way there we forgot Brittany's picture, but luckily we remembered in time to turn around and get it. The setting for our perfect evening was Indian Rocks Beach, a lesser known beach compared to its cousin in the north.
 

5. Dining at Waffle House.  Maybe I've lived a sheltered life, but I've never eaten at Waffle House. The closest one to our home is over 400 miles away in Phoenix, Arizona. When I saw one in Cocoa Beach, I knew we had to try it. I fell in love before I even took a bite. Everything was pretty darn cheap. Then I fell in love even more when I saw the portions and tasted the food. In this place there is nothing wrong with ordering a hamburger with a waffle. And I will say that my waffle was the best I've ever had.
 

6. Riding the carousel. Next to the library in St. Augustine is a carousel. The cost to ride is $1 per person. Certainly not what we expected coming to one of America's most historic cities, but well worth our time.
 

7. Wandering through a very old city.  St. Augustine is the longest continually inhabited city of European origin in the United States. We spent the evening strolling around the old quarter and getting a brief feel of the atmosphere. I will admit that it is a bit on the touristy side, with most things aimed to get your money (and a lot of it). It has a Disneyland feel, but with a sprinkling of historical landmarks. It was here that Savanah was happy to meet up with her friend, Gavin, who's mother drove him eight hours from North Carolina to meet us!
 

8. A taste of Havana.  One of my goals was to eat at a Cuban restaurant in Florida. We found Pepo's Cuban Cafe in St. Petersburg and it fulfilled all our expectations, including a low cost. I was worried we would have to reserve in advance to get a table, but when we arrived we were the only ones there. I ordered their original pork dish, with Spanish beans and black rice on the side. It came with toasted Cuban bread and butter. The girls behind the counter must have come straight from Cuba because we could barely understand them. The decor of the restaurant was great, with several large paintings of Havana on the wall. This was the first true Cuban meal for any of us.
 

9. Evening at the ballpark.  I am trying to visit all the Major League Baseball stadiums I can before I die. I am now up to three. Since we were in the area, we had to catch a Tampa Bay Rays game. Kaitlyn and I both love baseball, but I hoped the rest of the family would too. Our seats were low enough we could watch the pitchers in the bullpen close-up. Even though there were a meager 10,000 spectators, there was still a lot of hooting, hollering, cowbells and an attempt at the wave. Kaitlyn brought her mitt, hoping to catch a foul ball (which is a sure sign that nothing will come our way).
 

10. Dancing at Steak 'n Shake.  Okay, maybe we weren't dancing, but sometimes we felt like it! Probably our favorite meal in Florida was at a Steak 'n Shake in Merritt Island. It was casual with good tasting food in a fun environment. This is another one of those restaurants we don't have in Utah, or many other places in the West.
 

11. Day at Cocoa Beach.  I wish we hadn't left Cocoa Beach. We had so little time there. I knew it would be our last stop at the ocean and I wished to relish every moment. A storm was brewing off the Atlantic and the waves seemed to come stronger and more frequent than usual. When a wave would come I would dive in, head first, then hold my breath and float in the water for thirty seconds while a couple more rollers came in and tossed me around. That was my ritual of the day.

It was in Cocoa Beach that we visited Ron Jon's Surf Shop and learned what we needed to buy to become true surf bums. Later that day Jordan and I took a walk up the main drag, then looped around and walked back to our hotel via the beach. By now more people were on the beach and the sun was high on the horizon. We cherished every minute we had, knowing that the next time that these two desert-dwellers would return to the beach would be far too distant in the future.
 

12. NASA. Two of our kids, Jordan and Jenna, have a passion for science and anything that has to do with space exploration. For this reason I knew we had to visit the Kennedy Space Center. Our visit lasted eight hours and was well worth the price of admission. We learned a ton and got a close-up look at many of the sites and artifacts that surround the history of NASA. For me, personally, the most touching experience was learning about the astronauts that died in various missions since the 1960's. I can remember both the Challenger and Columbia disasters, and to be able to learn of the people inside those shuttles was a very humbling experience. The two major feelings I left with were that of awe and sadness. Awe for the major accomplishments of space travel and sadness for those who lost their life in this pursuit. ♠

Exploring the Old Family Mines at Cottonwood

From the other side of the wash we spot a portal to an old mine shaft. It is sealed shut with bricks. Disappointed, we continue to walk along the wash and within a minute we find another opening. This portal is smaller in size and a low mound of earth lies below it.
 
I leave the girls on the bank and slosh through the stream to the other side. With water dripping from my shoes I climb up the bank and stop in front of the opening. A cold draft issues from within. I poke my head through the orifice and peer inside. This is definitely a shaft!
 
With a little coercion, I persuade my two girls (ages 13 and 15) to come explore the mine with me. They don't want to get their feet wet so I carry them, one at a time, on my back over the water. On our bellies we slide into the shaft and once inside we are all able to stand up.
 

Sealed portal near Cottonwood Creek.

We found this entrance to the mine.

The mine is dry and the rock all around appears to be solid. I place my finger over my lips, telling the girls to only whisper. I would hate to trigger any sort of collapse. (As it is, I feel a little guilty for taking my daughters into a potentially dangerous place.)
 
With flashlight in-hand we walk through a tunnel that runs perpendicular to the portal we just entered. Within a minute it comes to a "T" with the main body going to the right. On our left we can now see the back end of the bricked-up adit we had spotted earlier.
 
We follow the main shaft that now runs deeper into the hillside. Lying on the ground is a gallon-sized oil can that looks like it came from the 1960's, but within this cavern it has been preserved as if it were purchased yesterday.
 
Above us on the ceiling of the tunnel is the yellow outline of uranium. This is what the miners were looking for. They called them trees and I believe at one time they were real trees that lived on the outside. The miners here also excavated carnotite and vanadium.
 
Continuing deeper into the mine we come to another fork. The right-hand passage is a dead end. We turn left and come into a larger chamber. Several thick pillars of juniper look as if they are placed to support the tunnel. The shaft continues in deeper, but Jenna is becoming a little spooked, so we decide this is far enough. But before we leave, I decide it is necessary to turn off the flashlight and for a moment experience true darkness. I snuff our light and as expected it is pitch black.
 

Cottonwood Creek.

The mines in Cottonwood run deep in my family. In 1931, my great-grandfather, Seth Shumway, and his brothers Arah, Harris and Lee were the first to haul ore from this area. But they did not discover the minerals.
 
As the story goes, the minerals were discovered that same year by a sheepherder named Benitio Sanchez. Near one of the springs he found an outcropping with some interesting rocks. He took a sample to his employer, Tom Jones, hoping it contained gold or silver. Tom, in turn, took it to his neighbor, Arah Shumway, who had an interest in minerals and had worked in the mines with his brother. Arah determined it was carnotite, a combination of uranium, radium and vanadium.
 
Since it contained no gold or silver, neither Tom Jones nor Benito Sanchez had interest in it. But they gave a description to Arah of where it was found. The next day Arah and Harris walked from Blanding to Cottonwood (about seven miles) to search for the exact location. When they couldn't find it they returned to Blanding and consulted with Tom to refine their search. They returned again and this time found Benito's campsite and ten outcroppings of carnotite. That day they staked ten claims. The rest is history.
 
For the next several decades, at least three generations of Shumways, which included son-in-laws, friends and cousins, worked the mines at Cottonwood. The surrounding area became a second home to their families. Some became rich and others broke. It was a place of pleasant memories as well as tragedy.
 

Anasazi ruins on a ledge in Cottonwood.

Outside the mine we begin to explore the proximity. The creek is a good nine inches deep, which is higher than normal. The flow is not perennial and usually dries up by fall. But we've had a wet winter and are now reaping the benefits. Cottonwood trees grow from the banks, concealing any evidence of a mine from the main road.
 
Through a thicket of willows, out of reach on a clifftop, we find a stone dwelling. Built by the Anasazi over 800 years ago, it is much more ancient than the mines. Although it is still well intact, I'm sure it has been picked clean of artifacts considering that the Shumways worked next door. The Shumways have a notorious reputation in the field of antiquities collection, and I'm sure much of it was procured during their spare time while working the mines.
 
Nearby is a quaint little pond. It is hidden from view by a small hill and a thick growth of vegetation. Upon closer examination, Jenna discovers a sealed mine shaft at the far end of the pond. It is sealed off with brickwork, just like the other portal we found. It is partially submerged in water. More than likely, this shaft was a “wet mine,” one which continually seeps water and which often needs a pump to drain the seepage. If left unattended it can create a body of water.
 
On our way back to the vehicle we find an old wooden structure and a few other mining relics scattered about. We find a reclaimed shaft that goes directly into the ground at a diagonal slant. We don't have a lot of time to wander, but I wonder what we'd find if we had all day to look around?
 

Mining debris near Cottonwood Mill.

We are fortunate to have been able to drive to the mines on a good graveled road. That wasn't always the case. As stated earlier, Arah and Harris had to walk to get here. My great-uncle, Merwin Shumway, described how the first road was built into Cottonwood: “. . . we had no way to haul ore except a little old pickup. To get the pickup into the mines we had to build a road from above Cottonwood, down through the sagebrush flats and into the Cottonwood area where the mill was. We grubbed the brush and piled it aside just wide enough that our pickup could haul in the parts to build the mill. That was the first super highway in Cottonwood.”
 
This road later became maintained by the county and has been used by countless people to access the mines. When the weather was good my grandma Shumway would drive the family to Cottonwood and have a picnic lunch with my grandpa, Burdett. My mom recalls that Cottonwood was always her favorite destination. As a girl she and her sisters could stay entertained for hours playing in the sand and water. They caught polliwogs and collected rocks. Even I remember as a child going to Cottonwood for family outings and playing games up on the bench and watching what seemed like a raging river when I look over the bank toward the wash. Of course, by that time Grandpa was gone and the mining days of Cottonwood were long over.
 

Ruins of Cottonwood Mill #3.

We drive a short distance up the road and come to the ruins of the old mill. The girls and I get out and wander around. I've driven past here dozens of times, but this might be the first time I've stopped to explore.
 
Mostly what is left are the foundations of several buildings and scraps of debris. To my untrained eye I have no clue how to piece things together, nor do I know what they used to be. Many of the foundations appear to have had a greater function, with workings at the base that may be concrete conduits of some sort. There are also piles of ocher-colored brick and rusty wires and cables.
 

Scattered bricks at Cottonwood Mill.

The first mill on this site was built in 1937. Frank Garbutt, a movie producer from Los Angeles, financed the mill, and Howard Kimmerle, who had experimented with vanadium recovery methods, managed the project. “[The mill] was built on a slope above the creek to allow gravity-feed for the milling process. Ore was hauled up the ramp at the top of the building and dumped into the roaster. Leach and precipitation tanks were on the lower levels, and at the bottom was the fuser for creating the vanadium oxide product.”—Nearly a year after the mill was built, it burned to the ground as a result of the high temperatures used to roast the ore.
 
The mill was rebuilt in 1938. Kimmerle added a few frame houses, a blacksmith shop and a boarding house. Again, the mill burned down.
 
In 1943, Cottonwood Mill #3 was built on the same site. The ruins we walk through today are from this mill. The venture was short-lived as the owners had a large debt and the ore contained high contents of lime, which made the mill unprofitable.
 
As the mill was dismantled, my grandma and grandpa Shumway purchased one of the buildings to use as a home. They went out to Cottonwood and chose from several of the structures a long and narrow building. They had to cut it in half to haul it back to town where they reassembled it in an “L” shape. Friends and family helped put up wall paper and finish off the inside. It was an exciting new home for my grandparents and their new baby, Sandy.
 

L to R in back: Burdett, DeVar, Deloy Shumway.  Merwin Shumway, sitting. (DeVar Shumway photo)

On the other side of the hill from the old Cottonwood Mill site is the supposed location of the Springwater Mine. This is located on the east bank of Cottonwood and near the confluence with Brushy Basin Wash, which is almost always dry. A light amount of mining debris is scattered about the hillside.  
 
This area is hallowed to our family because it was here on December 14, 1964 that my grandpa, Burdett Shumway, was killed inside the mine.
 
The Springwater Mine is a very, very wet mine. On that day Burdett and his cousin, Cleon Shumway, were standing in two feet of water drilling holes and loading them with fuses and powder that had been prepared. One of the fuses must have been faulty, because the first round blew shortly after lighting it. Cleon was thrown twenty feet away and managed to crawl out of the mine badly injured. Burdett didn't make it and was trapped inside while twenty-three more rounds fired off. To put it mildly, it was a very sad day for everyone.
 
As to the exact location of the portal for the Springwater Mine, it depends on who you ask. I have heard that it has been reclaimed and also that it is still open. With my dad I have walked all over in that area and have not found a single portal. We did, however, find what appears to be the remnants of a reclaimed shaft that fits the description given by one of the old-timers who helped carry the body of my grandpa out of the mine.
 
As an interesting side-note, I found an article by LaVerne Tate, whose family has worked extensively in the Springwater Mine. She concludes with an intriguing comment: “The Springwater Mine has become a quiet pond in its natural environment, fed by the natural springs within the mine itself, disguising its real 'glory hole nature.'”
 
Now I'm wondering if the sealed off mine on the edge of a pond that we saw earlier is really that of the Springwater Mine? It is definitely a possibility to consider. ♠ 

Could this be a portal to the Springwater Mine?

Sources

Bennett, Lee A. “Uranium Mining in San Juan County, Utah: South Cottonwood Creek and Elk Ridge.” Blue Mountain Shadows, vol. 26, Feb. 2002, pp. 14–43.

Lacy, Toni. “Mining and Families: A Dynamite Mix.” Blue Mountain Shadows, vol. 25, Nov. 2001, pp. 41–49.

Tate, LaVerne. “The Springwater Mine.” Blue Mountain Shadows, vol. 25, Nov. 2001, pp. 71–74.

Wilcox, Janet. “Mining with the Shumways: A Closer Look at Cottonwood.” Blue Mountain Shadows, vol. 16, Nov. 1995, pp. 47–54.

Navajo Dumpling Stew

I don't get the opportunity to travel across the reservation as often as I'd like. But when the situation arises, I try to find a taste of Navajo culture. I've eaten a mutton sandwich at a roadside shack and sheepherder sandwiches inside a cafe. This time I was looking for something new.
 
A friend gave me a tip of a wonderful food stall south of Cameron, Arizona. This is a busy section of Highway 89, a popular conduit for people traveling between Flagstaff, the Grand Canyon and further north into Utah and Colorado. At first we have trouble finding the stand because of the many booths selling jewelry and other trinkets, but at last we succeed.
 
The small trailer sits just off the west side of the highway. The San Francisco Peaks, one the the Navajo's four sacred mountains, stand majestically snow-capped in the background. Next to the trailer sits a picnic table beneath the shade of a canopy.
 
Inside the trailer are three Navajo women. From what I can tell they are a grandmother, daughter and granddaughter, the youngest about twelve years old. The grandmother has a sweet disposition and a puffy, wrinkled face. She remains in the background flattening a ball of dough. I think she's the boss.
 
I am here with my two daughters and we scroll over the short list of menu options written on a white board on the face of the trailer. I am looking for something I have never tried before. The girls order Navajo burgers and I decide on dumpling stew.
 
Before we are finish paying, the grandmother has dropped two discs of dough into a pot of boiling oil. We sit down at the picnic table to wait for our order. A very friendly lady is already at the table and raving over her food. She offers us a bite, but we politely decline. She is Anglo and a school teacher at one of the towns that border the reservation. She is on her way to Colorado to visit her daughter and passes by here all the time, but has never stopped.
 
Finally our meal arrives. The dumpling stew is served in a white plastic bowl. The broth is creamier than I expected, but with a very smooth meaty flavor. There are chunks of lamb that practically melt in my mouth. The dumplings, I'm quite certain, are strips of fry bread dough, cooked into the stew. After one bite I realize that it needs salt. Two shakers are on the table and I generously add flavor to the stew. From what I understand, this is quite typical of Navajo cuisine, especially traditional mutton stew. Along with my order comes a large piece of dry bread. This comes from the same discs of dough used to make fry bread, but they are cooked over a griddle instead of fried.
 
Three more people join our tiny table. A couple from Boise, Idaho are on the tail-end of a two-week vacation and decided to stop here while passing through. A Navajo from Chinle, but who is working in Kayenta, is on his way to Phoenix to visit his mother. I am learning that half the fun of eating here is visiting the people.
 
The stew is excellent. I take a bite with my spoon, then follow it with a chunk of dry bread. The wind has picked up considerably and as our bowls and plates become lighter we are having to hold everything down. 

I am also curious to know the history of dumpling stew. I will admit I've never heard of it before. Traditionally, corn stew or mutton stew are Navajo staples. I wonder if it is a recent innovation to cater to the tastes of tourists, especially since it has lamb instead of the tougher meat of mutton.
 
We finish our food, having been very satisfied. As we leave, more are arriving. Judging from the constant flow of traffic, this little stand probably sees a good amount of people. I'm sure their one little picnic bench will not be enough. ♠