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There were cases of beer and soda piled high on
the porch.
Everyone was so friendly and having a good
time. We heard a lot of stories.
One cousin told us about her husband, a
Canadian Mounty who had just recovered from a
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heart attack. He was 45 and they had assigned
him to the Reservation so they wouldn’t have to
pay income taxes.
Another fellow Raymond worked for the
Manitoba Department of Resources. During
1990 Fargo North Dakota had terrible floods that
he had gone down to help. He showed us
pictures of it and the Red River which runs out
of Lake Winnipeg through Fargo.
Margo, a cousin told us about hunting Moose.
Their meat is very lean. Her husband is 35 and
recovering from a heart attack. She is 30 and
weighs 300 pounds. This is a sad story, but not
uncommon for First Nation people living in a
European type of environment. Another fellow
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was a pawn broker, who among other things
builds and fly’s ultra light airplanes.
Dennis had asked us several times if we wanted
more fish or beer. During the afternoon he had
worn several hats. I told him this one, a
department of Resources was really neat. He
took it off and gave it to me. Oh! My! I
protested, but he insisted.
We never met anyone that had only one job.
Everyone worked two or even three. Dennis had
a Minnow business. He caught and froze
minnows for fishermen during the season.
There evidently were thousands or millions of
them growing and living by the Electric
Generation Plant. He scooped them up from the
warm waters.
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But, he wasn’t alone. He had a arch enemy, and
was woefully out numbered, so to speak. His
enemy were the Pelicans.
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CHAPTER 11
TOO MUCH CANADIAN SHIELD
Ontario
Leaving such a good time is always difficult. This
was no different. The summer picnic on the
Canadian plains filled our hopes, and to have
such a good time with so many friendly people
was grand.
Before going to bed we prepared to leave early in
the morning. Winnipeg was about 200 miles
south of us and we wished to go beyond the city
before stopping for the night.
This drive was very flat. We seldom saw any
water, yet it was all around us. It’s hard to
believe how flat it is. We’re used to water lines
on a lake shore to drop off from the edge, but
here in Manitoba and Saskatchewan there was no
drop off. The water line came right up to the
shore and with either a flat grassy
indistinguishable line or it was just soggy. But,
no drop off was apparent.
As we moved along I recalled a limerick I’d
learned as a young fellow. It was a bawdy tune
about a Canadian whore from Winnipeg. It went
a little like this.
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My first trip up the Chip-away river
My first trip to Canadian shores
There I met a Miss O’Flanigan
Commonly know as the Canadian whore.
It was a long drive into Winnipeg, and
remembering the entire limerick would have
suited both of us just fine. But, I didn’t, and later
couldn’t find a Chip-away River anywhere.
We were approaching Winnipeg and the
landscape was changing. There was more
agriculture and we could see tall buildings in the
distance, and the traffic was picking up.
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Winnipeg is not a large city. It has a French
influence and a 1950’s flair to it’s architecture.
We drove downtown and then out through a
couple of residential neighborhoods.
We noticed that all the street signs were French
and English. That was peculiar to us as there has
lately been a lot of political discussion in Canada
about Quebec seceding from the Confederation.
Canada has had a long history of rivalry between
the French and English, and up to 150 years ago
they had their share of wars. Today the French,
with the exception of Quebec are a small
minority of the total Canadian population.
I guess they are concerned about their French
heritage. Arlene and I didn’t understand why as
every member of Parliament must speak both
languages.
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It would be a shame for the Canadian
Confederation to be split, despite some very
strong feeling on both sides of the isle. Every
province would suffer; the Atlantic Provinces
would be cut off from the Western and Shield
provinces with Quebec in the middle. Not a
good situation
Outside the city we took off on the historical
Trans-Canadian Route 1. This road hugs the
southern border of Canada and crosses the
continent from St. John’s, Newfoundland to
Vancouver, British Columbia. At one point in
our travels we will have traveled the entire
distance. Now we will cross from Winnipeg to
Toronto.
The landscape has changed as we left Winnipeg
toward The Lake of the Woods and Ontario.
There the flat surfaces of the earth began to rise
trees, once just groves, now became forests, and
rocks and boulders defined the highway.
Traffic picked up, more than we’ve seen for
months. Many RV’s and trailers, all with their
lights on. Probably headed home after a
weekend at the lake. We are surrounded by lakes
and pass one after another. We can see how
useful a sea plane would be. There are few roads
in western Ontario yet lots of beautiful fresh
water lakes. You only need a pontoon plane to
get you there.
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Manitoba isn’t the largest province in Canada, but
it has the largest population, and more water line
than any of the others. It’s bordered on the
North by The Hudson Bay, where we had hoped
to see the Polar Bears, and on the south by the
Great Lakes, Superior, Michigan, Heron, Erie,
and Ontario.
Most of it’s population is along the Great Lakes,
which leaves the northern districts empty. No
one lives there. We encountered this problem
when we reached Lake Winnipeg and there were
no more roads east of the lake. In Ontario there
is nothing north of the Trans-Canadian Highway,
without a plane or the train.
We drove past the Lake of the Woods to
Vermillion Bay and the Blue Lake Provincial
Park. The lake’s water was clear and cold, our site
was flat, wooded and separated from the other
campers. We rated it a 3 ½ . All in all a nice
place to spend the night.
In fact if we were crazy about kayaking or
canoeing this would be a great place. Not just
this park, but anywhere in western Manitoba.
Boy! The water’s glorious, so clear.
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Lakes are so abundant that they run together,
one near the other. Kayaks could be portaged
and a camper could carry on for weeks between
and among them. We could become a water
traveler, camping one night at a time.
It would take some research to define a trip, but
here’s a quick shot at one. Presuming the flow of
the water is north we’d begin at Blue Lake, where
you could leave your auto and non-portable gear.
From there cross over to Wabigoon River, two
nights later portage to the English River, which is
the Ball Lake, Maynard and Wilcox Lake, another
portage to Wegg Lake. Here you might dry out
and catch your breath at Ear Falls, a small
community. Wouldn’t that be some trip?
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We are off this morning toward Thunder Bay and
Kakabeka Falls Provincial Park. It’s on the edge
of the Niagara Escarpment.
It seems like this shift in the land runs from
Niagara Falls all along the northern edge of the
Great Lakes. So we are expecting a grand falls.
It turns out to be spectacular. We were able to
hike down below the falls as well as drive across
the top of them. The valley is defined on one
side by the shift of a million and a half year old
precambrian sedimentary rocks.
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These escarpment shifts in our earth are
hundreds of miles long. They are all over the
world, on every continent. There are several
along our east coast including the Allegheny
Front and the Blue Ridge. We think that
Thunder Bay is named after the thundering noise
the falls make.
We want to move along, maybe as far as Toronto
so we won’t stay long. Except just up the road is
the largest and possibly only Amethyst m0ine in
North America.
I’ve a soft spot for purple things, and I’ve always
been a sucker for jewelry. Arlene would look
great with a few crystals around her neck and
wrist. How hard would it be to dig and chip
several of these purple crystals into a nice
necklace and bracelet for her.
It was a little further than up the road, maybe 50
miles into the back country, along a dusty red dirt
road.
The mine was announced by a small sign, a
parking lot and a little cabin. The sign invited
everyone to come into the cabin and register.
For a few bucks we got a hammer, which looked
like a a tack hammer with a pick on one end, and
a bucket for all the jewels.
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Outside was a desolate landscape with stone
rubble everywhere. A few tourist-miners were
picking around in the yard. Several paths led to a
crevice where there were large excavating
machines. Two Caterpillar front loaders and a
bulldozer. We walked over to the crevice and
with the help of binoculars could see down along
the sides. Amethyst are semi-precious stones or
crystals that grow in the cracks between the
rocks. It’s really surface mining as they only dig
down 30 or 40 feet to excavate them.
We weren’t allowed down into this crevice, but
could claim anything from the ‘left-overs’ that
were scattered around the field. We like so many
of the others found plenty of chunks of
Amethyst there, and could fill our bucket happily.
Arlene couldn’t fit this chunk into her bucket.
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Back inside the cabin was the real stuff, a couple
of display cases with rings, bracelets and
necklaces. I was dazzled by one necklace. The
stones were 8mm to 10mm in diameter, and had
a similar deep purple color. I liked them and they
looked good around Arlene’s neck. Maybe I
could also find a pair of ear rings. Yes, they had
them, and they matched, too.
All I needed to do was negotiate a price, and flip
out our Visa card. All was set except for one
small problem.
The young man who waited on us had a beautiful
purple baseball hat with Amethyst written across
the front in white. I’ve mentioned that I had
been collecting baseball hats a few provinces ago,
like in the Northwest Territories. This sounds
stupid, but I had to have that hat.
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The kid was gracious, but explained why he
couldn’t, and wouldn’t throw the hat into the
deal.
The mine had sponsored a Boy Scout jamboree
earlier in the summer. They had made up
enough hats for all the scouts. They went fast
and none were left over. They had discussed
making more and selling them, but nothing had
come of it, and if he gave it up his there would be
no other. He treasured the hat and wanted to
keep it.
I must admit, sometimes I’m impulsive, and at
other times downright stupid. In this case I was
both. There was no deal and we left without the
jewelry.
I will probably always regret being so stubborn,
and leaving without those stones.
As we drove back down the red dirt road, even
then lamenting not buying the necklace and ear
rings we passed a couple of guys grading the
road. One was wearing a purple amethyst hat.
Oh! No! Yes I did. I stopped and waved a $20 in
front of him. He took it and laughed at his
buddy who wished he’d worn his.
There was only one other thing to do. That’s
right. Turn around and go buy the Amethyst for
Arlene. After all who would enjoy it more than
her. I would, because I’d be looking at them on
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her. But no, we didn’t, we kept going back out to
the highway toward Thunder Bay.
I’m always analyzing these things and I should
learn from them. As I see it I wasn’t clear on
what I wanted, the Necklace, and didn’t keep up
with the several things that were happening as I
also wanted the hat, but not adjusting to them so
that once I’d gotten the hat, I should have
reevaluated what I wanted and gone for it. Often
that takes more time, like sleeping on it, than I
have to act on it. There-by missing out on the
primary objective.
Don’t get me wrong, sure I’d feel bad about the
necklace, but I’d also get over it. For example, in
Thunder Bay we saw a Model Shop and stopped.
Inside they had a selection of Alaskan Bush
Planes. Now that we were away from Alaska,
and weren’t going to fly in one, we had built up
our courage. It would be nice to have a couple of
these planes to put-together as a memory of our
good times. We bought a couple of models, the
twin engine Otter, and the famous de Havilland
Beaver.
Outside Thunder Bay we came over a rise and
had our first view of Lake Superior. We were
back on the road.
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Lake Superior was really different than the
western part of Ontario’s lakes and water ways.
Where there were lots of islands and trees, here
we traveled miles without seeing anything except
water on the horizon. Driving along the coast,
our perspective was that it’s so huge it could
easily be mistaken as an ocean. An ocean except
it’s fresh. At our first stop, I tasted it. That’s not
a good thing to do as we treat all water,
everywhere as it’s contaminated. Yet it’s one way
to tell if it’s fresh. It was.
The lake has had a hard time with foreign species
of fish and water animals. Suckers like Carp,
Brown Trout come to mind, but maybe the worst
are the Lamprey Eels. Getting rid of them has
been impossible.
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The water in this lake means more than just the
largest body of water in North America. It
separates our continent into two major water
drainage systems. We are all familiar with the
Mississippi River drainage that collects and
moves most of all the water in the United States ,
between the Rockies and the Appalachians.
Lake Superior collects and moves at least as
much water eastward between the Great Lakes
and along the St Lawrence Seaway into the
atlantic..
This waterway may have been the first access
route to North America for the Europeans,
Vikings or the Middle Eastern Phoenicians.
At Sault Ste. Marie we came to our first decision
to cross over into the U.S. or to stay on Canadian
shores. Since Lake Winnipeg and Grand Rapids
we had given up on staying far to the North.
Sault Ste. Marie is the gateway between Lake
Superior and Lake Huron. South of it is the
State of Michigan, Lake Michigan and Lake
Huron.
The Georgian Bay is also part of these lakes. We
chose to stay in Canada and continued through
the city without stopping heading for our new
destination Chutes Provincial Park.
We’ve been on the plains for some time. Here in
Ontario the little farming that’s done is along this
southern border. The fields are small, usually
lined with trees for weather protection. The farm
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houses are also small and square, and we haven’t
seen any barns or live stock. It doesn’t look like
agriculture is very prosperous.
The town’s have a 1950’s flavor to them. Motels
are a good example. They have swimming pools
in front, with big trapezoidal shaped signs, and a
single one story building with a line of rooms.
This picture is a ‘Fast Food’ restaurant, which has
to be dated pre-McDonalds. It’s pretty cool. We
stopped, thought we’d have a burger and fries,
but it was closed.
We drove through a town called Blind River. An
interesting name, and sure enough they couldn’t
find the mouth and so named the river and the
town.
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Chutes Provincial Park was a nice place. Not
many, campers, so we felt free to walk around
and relax. Relaxing as we moved along toward
Toronto, and the U.S. had become more difficult
for us. We were getting antsy about getting back
into the U.S. and to Potterville, Pennsylvania and
seeing my mother.
Chutes Park was named for the logging on the
river. Every spring the timber men would cut
and run 60,000 logs down the river. They would
damn up at the top of this water fall. The men
would break them apart and drive them down the
chute.
It’s not a very big river, and it’s the fall so there’s
a lot less water during the dry season. Even so
you can get the idea.
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There’s not much logging going on today. But,
the pool at the bottom of the Chute looked
inviting. It was a nice clear pool for a swim.
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We rated Chutes a 3 on our scale of 5. Pit toilets
were the only drawback. We’re use to the lack of
electricity in Canada’s parks, and without that
there are no showers and no flush toilets.
We were pretty tired and slept late. We planned
to move on today through Sudbury and on to
Toronto.
A few miles down the road we came upon a large
paper mill. The Boise-Cascade Company makes
paper here. You can see it’s a pretty big
operation. It uses lots of water, electricity, and is
near the forests. What could be better, we
stopped and for a tour. Huge rolls of news print
were coming off the assembly line and loaded
onto rail cars and trucks.
Arlene loved the tour and mostly the hard hat.
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We moved on to Sudbury. This is the Nickel
capital of Canada. And to prove it they take all
the black by-products and cover the hills. It’s so
desolate that our American astronauts used the
hills and fields as a moon training ground.
We could have gone on a tour of the mines, but
going down into the ground isn’t either of our
wishes. If we had we would have had to take an
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elevator down 10 stories. Sorry neither of us
were ready for that. Instead we took a few
pictures and went on our way.
Six Mile Provincial Park was our next stop, and
we expected it would be our last in Canada. We
were tired and ready to go back home. It had
been a long trail across the plains. One that we
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might have chosen to fly over rather than drive.
Enthusiasm was lost on us at this point. As we
drove up to the parks office and registration.
They were busy and only had a couple of spots
left for the weekend. We asked to look and
drove over to one. It was a poor excuse for a
camp site. On a hillside, with gullies running
down the parking area. A long way down the
road were the pit toilets and running water.
I was tired, as was Arlene, but energized by the
horrible condition of this and the other sites. We
left and vowed to make it to Buffalo before the
sun set.
It was a good thing that our adrenalin was
pumping as we were about to take a 4 hour 150
mile trip along Toronto’s busiest 5 lane highway.
It was around 3 pm Friday and everyone was off
early on a long weekend. We crawled bumper to
bumper 5 abreast through Toronto, Hamilton,
Niagara Falls and across into Buffalo.
Along the way we recapped our day. It was long
and not much fun.
Outside of Sauld Ste Marie we passed a tandum
tractor trailor that had rolled over. It was lying
on it’s side. It probably didn’t happen long
before we got there yet the RCMP had already
arrived to help. It was the first highway accident
we’d seen during our entire trip. Probably the
driver fell asleep.
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We stopped at an A&P store, Atlantic and
Pacific. This great and historical grocery chain
has now closed. We are reminded of it by the 8
O’Clock coffee brand they used to make.
In Sudbury we got lost time and time again. First
on the way to the Nickel mine and then again
when we left. We’d pretty much had it by the
time we got out of town.
Six Mile Park was our destination, but it was the
pits. We could only speculate on why anyone
would camp there. They probably couldn’t
afford to pay for a full tank of gas, thereby
limiting the distance from Toronto. Or their car
or van broke down and they didn’t have a towing
service.
The traffic into and out of Toronto never let up.
We have driven on the Long Island freeway, and
out of New York to White Plans in rush hour.
We’ve driven the notorious Interstate 495
Washington D.C. beltway at a crawl. Even along
the backed up bumper to bumper I-95 on the
weekend along the Connecticut shore. All of
these were terrible, yet never longer than 50
miles. This trip, never ever let up and continued
for 150 miles.
We were keen on seeing the United States, even
as we crossed the Niagara Falls bridge we noticed
that the concrete was crumbling. Fortunately we
made it without collapsing. We really need some
rest.
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CHAPTER 12
HOMEWARD BOUND
We used our new approach to crossing the
border. Arlene was not supposed to say anything
on account of the apple incident at the Idaho
crossing. It would be simple as we didn’t have
anything to declare. The float plane models
would slide under the covers, except we saw later
that they were on top of our covers and easily
seen through the windows.
I was to do all the talking and only answer any
questions with a short, really short reply. It
would go something like this.
‘Good Evening Sir Can I see your drivers license?
Yes Sir. ‘Florida, You’re a long way from home.
Yes Sir. ‘Do you have anything to declare? No
Sir’ Thank You, and have a good evening. Yes
Sir.’
Only it didn’t go as planned.
‘Good Evening, can I see your drivers license?’ I
didn’t reply. Arlene poked me and I handed him
my license. ‘Are you both American Citizens?’ I
didn’t reply again. Arlene said yes. ‘Are you
headed for Florida? Yes sir, but not tonight. ‘Do
you have anything to declare? No Sir. ‘Do you
plan to make those models? Oh! Yes Sir, as soon
as we get home. ‘Welcome back to the United
States, and have a good evening.’
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If I wasn’t so tired I never would have frozen.
Thanks to Arlene, who came to the rescue, and
the customs agent who didn’t care about our
contraband.
We drove in and out of Buffalo stopping at the
first motel on the far side. Boy were we tired.
The Paper mill, nickel mine, and lousy
campground, set us off even before the 4 hour
traffic snarl through Toronto. Now 12 hours
later with the sun setting we had come to our
wits end.
WELCOME TO THE UNITED STATES
Refreshed, we had breakfast during which we
discussed how we had raced across Canada the
last few days and really weren’t enjoying
ourselves. We decided to slow down, stop
rushing, take a little more time and smell the
roses.
To reset our approach to traveling we stopped at
a local grocer, for some fruit, and maybe a picnic
sandwich. It was WEGMANS. That’s a regional
grocer in New York State.
WOW! It was a huge store! Inside we were
greeted by the largest produce area we’d ever
seen. It was larger than all the stores we’d been
in for 3 months. The colors were marvelous, red
and orange peaches, oranges, purple plumbs,
grapes, Bing and Queen Ann Cherries, green and
yellow corn, celery, carrots, large and small
potatoes, red, green butter, romaine, and iceberg
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lettuce, early cabbage, squash, cucumbers and
every kind of pepper and leafy vegetable.
Beside the produce was the bakery. Boy, did it
smell good.
It was so overwhelming that we took a couple of
pictures before being asked not to.
We just wandered around for a while, through
the produce, the deli, the fresh meat and fish
section, the cheese, and dairy. We bought some
peanut butter, and cereal off the counters, and
two deli sandwiches, potato salad, fresh baked
bread, a couple of peaches and pastries.
Man! Is it possible that we’ve crossed the border.
Is this the America we have heard about. The
one of luxury and abundance? Really; It must
be so.
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We left Wegmans heading southeast toward the
Genesee River and Letchworth State Park. A
pleasant drive across the New York countryside.
Even there the fields were lush, the farm houses
and barns were larger than in Canada, and in
good condition, painted and fenced, with cut
lawns. In the small towns the homes were old
1950’s style, with large columns on full wrap
around porches. All were painted and in trim
shape.
It’s hard to believe that life could be so different
in two countries so close together. Yet, we were
amazed by it.
Our campground was perched above the
Genesee River. It was okay, rated a 3 ½, large
flat sights, separated from each other, flush
toilets and hot showers. At night we could see
the campers that were there for a couple of
weeks. They stood out with their colored lights
strung around their awnings. Another sign of
America.
These lights are a hallmark of local campers who
return year after year to the same site. They are
made up of every imaginable shape and variety.
They come in all the Christmas colors, blue,
purple, red, green and yellow. They are shaped
like, flamingos, my favorite and the most gaudy
of all, beer cans, or bottles, birds, hot peppers or
corn on the cob.
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Below was the river valley and dam. We watched
the hawks soar from the cliffs. But, what was
strange to us was there was only a trickle of water
above the dam.
The Genesee River evidently doesn’t have a lot
of water in it except during the spring. Then it
can fill the valley, flood and raise to the top of
the dam. It was one of the earliest flood control
efforts made in the U.S.
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We made one more stop before reaching mom’s
home in Potterville. We couldn’t resist Corning
New York and their Glass Museum. A chance to
watch the glass blowers, the collection of glass
artifacts, and a Chihuly exhibit.
In the past few years mom has had her share of
health problems. She is forgetful and because
she shouldn’t be left alone cousin Pat has found a
place for her where she lives with several other
senior citizens. She lives at the Grosses. A
family with two children. Mrs. Gross is a
registered nurse and her husband is a fireman.
Mom is well taken care of there.
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We have gone to see her each day, and take her
out riding as well. She likes to come home, so we
spend a lot of time talking about our trip,
showing her our videos and listening to her
stories. I’ve been able to video several hours of
our conversations.
We’ve decided that her house ought to be
painted. She’s pretty excited about it, even
though I’ve told her she couldn’t come and
watch, because she’s always had a ‘white glove’
towards my household work. She’s agreed, but
all of us understand that she’ll be there
supervising.
The easiest way to prepare the house was to wash
it with a high pressure spray. We did that, and
almost washed the boards away with the old
paint.
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It will take a week or so for the wood to dry so
we worked over mom’s accounts and took her
shopping and then decided to go to the
Adirondacks for a few of days.
We headed back into New York State to Long
Lake in the Adirondacks. We had wanted to go
on one of the float planes when in Alaska, but
were too scared and afraid to fly onto the Denali
glacier, in the fog and possible snow.
We thought we were over the fear, and here at
Long Lake was a beautiful orange and red de
Haviland Beaver. The plane that won the Last
Frontier.
With no fear we signed up and took a flight.
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The lake was smooth as glass. We climbed
aboard Arlene, me and the pilot who once flew in
Alaska. We taxied under a bridge and then the
bird roared, lifting off above the water. We
couldn’t hear each other talk.
Sitting in the co-pilots seat was cool, yet I could
only see the top of the prop spinning, as the dash
was so high. Out to the side was the mountains,
forest and lake, and above me was the orange
wing. On the dash there were more gages and
throttles than I could figure out what to do with.
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We circled and flew for an hour above the
mountains and then took the long glide down the
lake to splash down.
We were so brave. These little planes bounce
around on the slightest air currents you know.
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Leaving the Adirondacks we headed back to
Potterville to paint the house.
Mom’s place is a small home in a town with
about 15 families. Behind each house is usually
several acres of farmland. Mom’s place has a
barn and about 10 acres behind it. It isn’t farmed
any longer, the fields are filled with maples, the
small orchard is overgrown and the cow and
chickens are gone.
It was once a thriving house. Mom was one of
13 children. My grandfather, was the country
doctor who drove the first car in the area, but,
before that would make his house calls in a horse
and buggy. Mom would drive the buggy and
hold it while he aided his patients, often being
paid with a sack of potatoes, and my mother
receiving a crocheted hankerchief.
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The painting went well and the supervision went
even better. Arlene always helpful in these
situations had placed a comfortable chair way
back on the lawn, in the shade. Where mom
could sit and speak up about any little suggestions
she might have. However she was so far away
that it was difficult to hear her. Our response, as
neither Arlene nor I were pardoned from her
eagle eye, was to say ‘yes, of course we will’.
The house came out looking grand. Everyone
was happy about it.
Because of mom’s condition, and because we
were so far from Potterville we wanted to talk to
the local funeral home director. We did and
generally got a good idea of the cost and services
they provided
Leaving Potterville we headed toward
Connecticut and our home in East Granby. We
haven’t been away for too long, yet even a year
takes it’s toll on an empty house.
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While we were in Potterville, we visited the
nearby Williams grave site, where many of my
mothers brothers and sisters are buried. It’s in
Neath, another small community and on the
hillside. It’s a beautiful place, where three hills
come together with a small church and grave yard
over looking it. It’s forested hills are lovely in the
summer, but most beautiful in the fall with
orange and red sugar maple foliage.
Arlene and I have thought for years that this
would be a wonderful place to be buried. We
have always enjoyed the peace and quiet and
country beauty. Yet my mother’s family has filled
the site, and there are none left for dying
members. Even though it would be our first
choice.
When Arlene’s father died we became aware of
his family plot in Cheshire, Connecticut, at the
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Hillside Cemetery. It’s on the top of the hill and
has a beautiful view.
The Milton’s plot is marked with the Mason’s
symbol on this large pillar and ball. Neither of us
are masons, but my father was a 32 degree and
my mother belonged to the Eastern Star.
Arlene’s standing in front of her mother’s grave.
We both liked this spot also, and there were two
plots left, right where Arlene is standing in front
of her mother and grandmother. We bought the
these two plots so when we die this will probably
be where we would be buried. We also like the
black marble cylinder markers. And as an
additional bonus dying in Florida or Georgia is a
lot cheaper on taxes than Connecticut.
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After checking our Connecticut home out and
buttoning it up for the winter we again hit the
road. This time for the final drive down the east
coast alone the Appalachians to Florida.
It was getting cold at night, beyond a comfortable
sleeping temperature, and pretty chilly during the
day. Even so we headed into Virginia and onto
the Skyline drive.
The Shenandoah Valley has long been a favorite
part of the country for us. There were only two
other campers here at Loft Mountain . These
sites are nice, but have very few amenities. Pit
toilets, and no showers. Rating was a 1 ½.
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Over the years we have taken lots of pictures.
There must be one that stands out.
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THIS IS IT.
ARLENE ON THE SKYLINE
The Skyline Drive and Blue Ridge Parkway are
limited access and limited speed drives. Both are
a bit tiring after an hour or so at 35 miles per
hour. We left for the valley’s Interstate 81 and
headed south toward North Carolina.
Leaving Virginia into North Carolina is one of
the grand exits from any State. From the top of
the Blue Ridge Mountains in Virginia we drove
down the mountain side five miles, overlooking
the rolling hills of North Carolina. It’s a beautiful
drive and often breathtaking, particularly in the
fall.
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We headed through Statesville and west on I-40
to Hickory. The state is known for it’s
manufacture of furniture. The town where many
manufactures are is High Point, but it is too far
to the east. Hickory has a huge furniture market,
and we have bought a number of pieces from
different companies that exhibit there. Our
summer wicker, and winter sofa and chair come
from there.
We won’t buy anything, but it’s too tempting to
pass up. The furniture mart has five floors each
about the size of half a football field. We won’t
stay long, maybe an hour.
Four hours later, we’ve seen everything. We’ve
been to Hendredon, Schoonback, Winston,
Basset, Drexel, Thomasville, and 15 other
manufacture’s show rooms. We’ve seen every
lamp, chandelier, bedroom set, chest, dining
room, family room, living room, porch and deck
manufacture in the state. Nothing escaped us.
We even bought a camode to add to our Drexel
bedroom set.
We left and limped into Georgia before nightfall.
Georgia was a bit warmer. We were at the Corp
or Engineers campground on Lake Hartwell. It’s
a pretty camp and rated a 4 with separated sites
along the shore, water and electric, showers and
flush toilets and a dump site.
We slept well and were up early, greeted by the
sun on the lake. We’re going to make the final
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long push toward Florida and home today. A
twelve hour drive.
But, not far down the road and we came to
Royston, Georgia, the home of Ty Cobb, one of
the best baseball players of all time.
If there was ever a more hated and feared
baseball player it was him. He batted over .366
for his career and stole 892 bases. He believed
the base paths were his, and he would spike
anyone in his way. No one liked him, on or off
the field.
Royston, Georgia was his home, and they have
built a museum commemorating him; trying to
make him seem like a philanthropist, a generous,
caring and giving person. He was not.
I use to play a game, called All Star Baseball
(Only Monopoly had a higher standing.). Hour
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after hour it would go on like real baseball,
without a limit. The game had the batting
history of each player on a cardboard wheel.
When it was the player’s time up I would load the
card onto a spinner. If the arrow landed on ’13’
it represented a single and runners would advance
2 bases. His single area on the card was the
largest of any player, including Lou Gehrig, or
Joe DiMaggio. He had the best on-base-slugging
average. A lifetime .433.
We couldn’t go on without stopping and visiting
the Museum. As you can see by the date on the
mug that the people of Royston had just recently
decided he should be celebrated. We enjoyed our
visit.
We’ve modified our ambitious travel plans. We’ll
not try to drive the 700 miles home. No we’re
going to try to get to Waycross, Georgia. That’s
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near the Okefenokee Swamp, and Laura S.
Walker State Park.
Georgia’s State Parks are really nice. Here at
Laura Walker they have one the seven parks that
have golf courses. These courses are
immaculately maintained by prisoners. We’d like
to play them, but our van’s space is limited. We’d
need something larger if we carried golf clubs.
The campground is nice. It’s open and one can
see from site to site. There is a lake that would
be nice to paddle a canoe or kayak. But, not a
swimming hole as we believe it’s filled with
alligators. Anywhere, from Virginia south is
alligator land, and even then we are aware.
The camp was rated a 3 ½, with water, electric,
flat and a dump site. The camp is open. Grassy
with oaks providing shade from the summer sun.
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We are on the edge of one of the great swamps in
America. The Okefenokee Swamp. It’s waters
may seep down the coast from Virginia’s Dismal
Swamp. It for sure is the water way into Florida
that leads to the grassy ocean swamp, the
Everglades.
We have noticed since moving to Florida, and
taking several trips around that swamps are very
difficult to get a handle on. The land is so flat
and mostly supports trees and hammocks, and
grassy fields. Here, the land is flat and covered
with forest. It is difficult to tell that the land is at
or below sea level and mostly under water.
It’s time for us to close up shop and head for
home. Our next stop will be on Trionfo in our
little pink house. The drive is easy enough once
we get out to Interstate 75 it’s all superhighway.
Not that we haven’t become accustomed to these
highways. They are a fine way to get from one
place to another when getting there is what’s
important.
When we left home we had high hopes and
fantasies about our country. We’d spent our lives
on the east coast. We knew so little about the
south, or great plains where we could see so
many miles. How amazed we were that once the
white tops of the Rockies were in view we still
had a full day before we reached the foothills. It
was hard for us to imagine how our forefathers
crossed this vast land in a wagon.
400
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