My first stop in the morning was Rock Island. I know what you are thinking: Rock Island is not in Iowa; it’s in Illinois. Of course you are right. But it offers some historical background on the area and great views of Davenport. So I’m putting it here. It’s an island after all, just sticking out there in the Mississippi between the two states. Rock Island Arsenal is a joint US military base, so once I got past the guard post, my first stop was the observation tower. 
Eager to move forward with the historical pieces, I stopped only for a few photos, the most interesting of which was of the bugs covering the tower windows.
I had hoped to walk Tamu around the various sites of interest on the island, but the map informed me that walking is “only approved for those who possess a Military ID Card,” and it was turning out to be a hot and humid day. So we drove to the next site, the Col. Davenport Home. Davenport was an early 19th century fur trader who founded the Quad Cities, including the Iowa city named for him. He made a fortune by the 1830’s and built himself a house on Rock Island, where he was subsequently murdered in 1845 by a marauding gang while his family went to a church picnic for the July 4th holiday. I was hesitant to take the full house tour because Tamu was stuck in a hot car, so the guide helpfully directed me to the plaque outside that tells the full story, added some color, and helped me on my way.
My next stop was the Confederate cemetery, which is the sole remaining piece of a massive prisoner of war camp for Confederate soldiers during the Civil War. It opened in 1863 and gained a reputation for disease and overcrowding. It was built for 10,000, but ultimately held 12,000; 2000 perished while in the prison. It was known as “Andersonville of the North,” which is a reference to the infamous Union prison camp in Georgia that is now a museum to that time and for all POWs. The cemetery is all that remains of the camp at Rock Island. Interestingly, the flag that flies over it is the US flag. 
This surprised me because, at the Confederate cemetery at Johnson Island in Ohio, the Confederate flag flies over the graves and a Confederate soldier looks out over their heroes. (So, when I finally get to writing about my Ohio and Georgia trips, I’ll connect to those pages.)
The Rock Island Arsenal also contains a very large National Cemetery, where a number of US military are interred. I had nobody to visit inside, and it felt disrespectful to the families who were visiting to be wandering around with my dog and a camera, so I pressed on from the base and back into Iowa.
In daylight, Davenport turned out to be a charming town with a large park along the Mississippi River, so Tamu and I got out to enjoy the sleepy summer Sunday along the River Walk. There were families picnicking in the park, and a Canadian Pacific train zoomed through the western side of the park as we strolled along the eastern river edge. 
Because it was Sunday, there was less to explore than on a weekday. Most of the restaurants and sights suggested at the state tourism website were closed or had limited hours. Well, except for its renowned ice cream parlor, Whitey’s. It was early in the day–we had not even had lunch–but I stopped in and, after consulting the professional behind the counter, happily gobbled up a malt that combined chocolate and peanut butter. 
Then we headed toward I-80, but not before catching some roadside art. Our first stop along the highway was at the world’s largest truck stop in Walcott. We got lucky finding parking, and I headed in to explore. It offers a selection of fast food, gifts, trucking supplies, and a museum. Since I was not hungry and needed to
be in Iowa City for dinner, I caught a few minutes of Sally Field and Burt Reynolds together in the cab of his 18-wheeler in Smokey and the Bandit, and 
pressed forward.
Our next stop turned out to be quite a find, the Herbert Hoover National Historic Site in West Branch, Iowa. The truth is, I had no idea that Herbert Hoover was from Iowa, that he was the first US President born west of the Mississippi, or anything else about him. Well, except that he presided over the start of the Great Depression, and the shanty towns that grew up as a result of it were called Hooverville. So I am glad I stopped. Like the Springfield site for Abraham Lincoln, the Hoover site offers a walking path through Hoover’s old neighborhood. But the first stop was the small visitor’s center, where I sat through a 12 minute film about Hoover’s life in West Branch. The film told me about his Quaker background, how his parents prospered until his father died when Hoover was a child, how his mother grew to prominence as a minister in the Quaker community until she too died, leaving behind three young children. Hoover was nine and eventually was sent to live with uncle in Oregon. I learned a little bit about his role in coordinating relief efforts during World War I, and very little about his presidency. The film used the word depression only once.
Once I had completed the film and went through the small museum, I headed out with Tamu into the neighborhood. 
Even now, West Branch is charming and quiet. The site takes you past the homes of neighbors, the schoolhouse where he learned as a child, his father’s blacksmith shop, and the Friend’s meeting house where his family worshiped. His birthplace cottage is charming, and visitors can walk through it. 
I decided to give Tamu a chance to indulge his love of historic re-enactment and let him dress up as the Hoover family dog. I hope this is historically accurate. 
I must admit that I love it when the National Park Service provides a sense of the whole neighborhood. They do something similar at the Carter birth site in Plains too. I inevitably think of my own 1950’s era suburban cul-de-sac and visitors filing past our homes should one of the neighbor kids become President one day. It makes me smile. I wonder if the will restore all that shocking pink paint that was original to our house.
After all the stops, I took the path up to Hoover’s Presidential Library, but it was about to close. In front is an intriguing statue of the Greek goddess, Isis. I was disappointed to miss the library and gravesite, but grateful it 
gives me a chance to go back, as I’ve recently learned that it also houses the collected papers of Rose Wilder Lane.
I made one more stop before heading for the Iowa Summer Writing Festival, the Brick Arch Winery in West Branch. The friendly hostess suggested that I come back sometime during the writing week for a full tasting and meal, as Iowa City is only 30 minutes away. I did not get back, so now I have two reasons to stop in West Branch again.