Forever A Hillbilly: Learning While Teaching

Forever A Hillbilly: Learning While Teaching:  THE JOB STARTED IN THE MIDDLE OF THE SCHOOL YEAR . I had just graduated from college in January, and I felt very lucky to find a teac...

Forever A Hillbilly: Forever A Hillbilly:

Forever A Hillbilly: Forever A Hillbilly::  Learning While Teaching      The job started in the middle of the year. I had just graduated from college in January, and I felt ver...

Learning While Teaching

 THE JOB STARTED IN THE MIDDLE OF THE SCHOOL YEAR. I had just graduated from college in January, and I felt very lucky to find a teaching job at that time of year. It was at Saint Paul, Arkansas, deep in the Ozark Mountains near Fayetteville.  It wasn't until later that I realized it was because they had already lost so many teachers that year.

     It paid two thousand dollars for the semester, big money to me. It was sort of a bits and pieces job, just fill in where a teacher had been destroyed and quit, where a senior sponsor had been run off, where another just couldn't take it anymore and walked. It didn't seem to matter that the subject didn't match my degree, my area of expertise. But really, at that point I had no area of expertise, although I was pretty well convienced I knew it all. I did get one physical education class, in my field, and that actually turned out to be my salvation at St. Paul.

     I knew the coach, Billy Max, an old Arkansas A&M grad like me. He invited me to share his trailer. I went along with him to lots of his games. His senior boys basketball team was very short, no good, and would pass up a layup any day for the glory of gunning a thirty foot shot. Just quite naturally, they won no games that year.

     Teaching went pretty well, everything considered. I had a hard core group of senior hillbilly boys in my PE class, but I was a hard core hillbilly too. These guys, I   knew, were at the forefront in running off teachers, so I put in a little segment on distance running right off. Since I had just came from being a college distance runner, I led them out on a 3 mile route. They were determined to not let a teacher outdo them in anything physical, and they kept up until they just, one by one, collapsed. They respected physical things much more than teaching ability, fortunately, and we got along pretty good. One of my boys collapsed to the point that I had to load him up in my car and take him to the doctor in Huntsville, twenty miles away. We were late getting back, he was still pretty much out of it, so I drove him home and milked his goats for him.

     Time for the senior play was coming up, and, as the senior sponsor had already been run off, I was the man. When we started having practice at night, I soon realized I had my hands full. Sometimes, some of them would just not show up. Those that did had not been studying their lines. I knew a disaster was in the works, and I was right. When the big night came, I posted lots of prompters around behind the curtains. It really was not a matter of prompting, often they just had to read the whole line. And sometimes, the wrong actor grabbed onto a line and just ran with it. Halfway through, a very loud alarm clock that some junior had hidden in the couch on stage went off. I still have that clock. You just can't believe how loud that clock was.

     Oh well, all's well that ends well. When it was over, they called me out on the stage, told me how much they appreciated my hard work, and presented me with a brand new fly rod.

I was returning from seeing my girl one Sunday night, well after dark. I cut through the mountains. When I passed a new Ozark National Forest sign, I saw it was on fire. I grabbed an old rag and was trying to put the fire out, when an old, beat up station wagon drove slowly by. I got the fire out and went on to St. Paul. The next day, a kid brought me a message from his grandpa. Grandpa said, “Don’t be messing in my business again.” This was along about when the Forest Service stopped allowing locals to run their cows up in the mountains. I guess grandpa had a grudge about that.

     The end of the school year rolled around. Time for the senior trip. I was again the man, with a lady out of the community agreeing to go along to watch after the girls. She really didn't do much of anything, I think she was just on vacation. I drove the bus to Little Rock and booked us into a big hotel. These mountain kids were totally awestruck. I began to realize most of them had never been to a city before.  Many of them just wanted to ride the elevator, up and down, as long as I would let them. Some of them were older than me, and a few of the girls were pretty and flirty.  A twenty-one year old guy just really should not be responsible for them, that long. But my do right mechanism was turned on and kept me in good stead.

     We went on to Hot Springs. We went for a ride on a party barge. I had never driven one before, but I was again the man. As I came into a dock, I tried gracefully to shift into reverse. It would not go. I tried again, desperate this time. No luck. I yelled to the kid up front. “Hold it off, Max! Don't let it hit!” Well, I was giving an impossible assignment to that little boy on that great big barge. BOOM! Everyone came running out of cabins, and from everywhere. I had to cough up several bucks to get out of that.

                                                                                                                                                               

       I had made another big mistake. I passed out everyone's meal money for the whole trip the first day. Max, and some others, were big spenders – for about a day. Then they begged and starved the rest of the trip.

     Coach Billy Max resigned, and they offered me the coaching job for the next year. I took it.

The most noteworthy thing about my coaching time at Saint Paul was getting a personalized insult from Frank Broyles himself. After a particularly bad practice by the Arkansas Razorbacks he told newsmen, “We looked like Saint Paul out there today.” Well, I was the only coach Saint Paul had, and as I looked around to see if maybe he aimed that insult at somebody else, I didn’t see anyone but me. Ironically, a couple of years later, I was coaching at Fayetteville, and two of his sons were on my football team. What goes around comes around.

     I was good at not wasting money when I started to college. Can't waste what you don't have. College had honed that ability even more. I had three hundred ten dollars monthly take-home during that teaching semester, lived, made new car payments, and still saved eight hundred dollars.

     Soon after, I brought my new bride to St. Paul. It had taken me a year, almost to the day, to persuade her I was the man, even though I had known it the first time I saw her. I took her around, showing her the housing possibilities up there. The first was a small box, right in the middle of town. She said that just would NOT do. So, I took her way up in the mountains, five miles off the blacktop, to show her the second possibility, up close to the Orval Faubus birthplace. The only neighbors were in the graveyard next door. She quickly decided that box in town was not SO bad, after all.

     When I first arrived at Saint Paul it was midwinter.

Those hardwood forests were drab and dreary. Now, spring had brought to me bright green leaves and a brand new bride, completely changing my world. We found a new, beautiful spot in those mountains to picnic almost every day. A wonderful start to our fifty years together.

Forever A Hillbilly:

 Learning While Teaching

     The job started in the middle of the year. I had just graduated from college in January, and I felt very lucky to find a teaching job at that time of year. It was at Saint Paul, Arkansas, deep in the Ozark Mountains near Fayetteville.  It wasn't until later that I realized it was because they had already lost so many teachers that year.

     It paid two thousand dollars for the semester, big money to me. It was sort of a bits and pieces job, just fill in where a teacher had been destroyed and quit, where a senior sponsor had been run off, where another just couldn't take it anymore and walked. It didn't seem to matter that the subject didn't match my degree, my area of expertise. But really, at that point I had no area of expertise, although I was pretty well convienced I knew it all. I did get one physical education class, in my field, and that actually turned out to be my salvation at St. Paul.

     I knew the coach, Billy Max, an old Arkansas A&M grad like me. He invited me to share his trailer. I went along with him to lots of his games. His senior boys basketball team was very short, no good, and would pass up a layup any day for the glory of gunning a thirty foot shot. Just quite naturally, they won no games that year.

     Teaching went pretty well, everything considered. I had a hard core group of senior hillbilly boys in my PE class, but I was a hard core hillbilly too. These guys, I   knew, were at the forefront in running off teachers, so I put in a little segment on distance running right off. Since I had just came from being a college distance runner, I led them out on a 3 mile route. They were determined to not let a teacher outdo them in anything physical, and they kept up until they just, one by one, collapsed. They respected physical things much more than teaching ability, fortunately, and we got along pretty good. One of my boys collapsed to the point that I had to load him up in my car and take him to the doctor in Huntsville, twenty miles away. We were late getting back, he was still pretty much out of it, so I drove him home and milked his goats for him.

     Time for the senior play was coming up, and, as the senior sponsor had already been run off, I was the man. When we started having practice at night, I soon realized I had my hands full. Sometimes, some of them would just not show up. Those that did had not been studying their lines. I knew a disaster was in the works, and I was right. When the big night came, I posted lots of prompters around behind the curtains. It really was not a matter of prompting, often they just had to read the whole line. And sometimes, the wrong actor grabbed onto a line and just ran with it. Halfway through, a very loud alarm clock that some junior had hidden in the couch on stage went off. I still have that clock. You just can't believe how loud that clock was.

     Oh well, all's well that ends well. When it was over, they called me out on the stage, told me how much they appreciated my hard work, and presented me with a brand new fly rod.

I was returning from seeing my girl one Sunday night, well after dark. I cut through the mountains. When I passed a new Ozark National Forest sign, I saw it was on fire. I grabbed an old rag and was trying to put the fire out, when an old, beat up station wagon drove slowly by. I got the fire out and went on to St. Paul. The next day, a kid brought me a message from his grandpa. Grandpa said, “Don’t be messing in my business again.” This was along about when the Forest Service stopped allowing locals to run their cows up in the mountains. I guess grandpa had a grudge about that.

     The end of the school year rolled around. Time for the senior trip. I was again the man, with a lady out of the community agreeing to go along to watch after the girls. She really didn't do much of anything, I think she was just on vacation. I drove the bus to Little Rock and booked us into a big hotel. These mountain kids were totally awestruck. I began to realize most of them had never been to a city before.  Many of them just wanted to ride the elevator, up and down, as long as I would let them. Some of them were older than me, and a few of the girls were pretty and flirty.  A twenty-one year old guy just really should not be responsible for them, that long. But my do right mechanism was turned on and kept me in good stead.

     We went on to Hot Springs. We went for a ride on a party barge. I had never driven one before, but I was again the man. As I came into a dock, I tried gracefully to shift into reverse. It would not go. I tried again, desperate this time. No luck. I yelled to the kid up front. “Hold it off, Max! Don't let it hit!” Well, I was giving an impossible assignment to that little boy on that great big barge. BOOM! Everyone came running out of cabins, and from everywhere. I had to cough up several bucks to get out of that.

                                                                                                                                                               

       I had made another big mistake. I passed out everyone's meal money for the whole trip the first day. Max, and some others, were big spenders – for about a day. Then they begged and starved the rest of the trip.

     Coach Billy Max resigned, and they offered me the coaching job for the next year. I took it.

The most noteworthy thing about my coaching time at Saint Paul was getting a personalized insult from Frank Broyles himself. After a particularly bad practice by the Arkansas Razorbacks he told newsmen, “We looked like Saint Paul out there today.” Well, I was the only coach Saint Paul had, and as I looked around to see if maybe he aimed that insult at somebody else, I didn’t see anyone but me. Ironically, a couple of years later, I was coaching at Fayetteville, and two of his sons were on my football team. What goes around comes around.

     I was good at not wasting money when I started to college. Can't waste what you don't have. College had honed that ability even more. I had three hundred ten dollars monthly take-home during that teaching semester, lived, made new car payments, and still saved eight hundred dollars.

     Soon after, I brought my new bride to St. Paul. It had taken me a year, almost to the day, to persuade her I was the man, even though I had known it the first time I saw her. I took her around, showing her the housing possibilities up there. The first was a small box, right in the middle of town. She said that just would NOT do. So, I took her way up in the mountains, five miles off the blacktop, to show her the second possibility, up close to the Orval Faubus birthplace. The only neighbors were in the graveyard next door. She quickly decided that box in town was not SO bad, after all.

     When I first arrived at Saint Paul it was midwinter.

Those hardwood forests were drab and dreary. Now, spring had brought to me bright green leaves and a brand new bride, completely changing my world. We found a new, beautiful spot in those mountains to picnic almost every day. A wonderful start to our fifty years together..

Announcing The Winners!

THE WINNERS OF THE SIXTY YEAR PROMISE BEST FAMILY STORIES CONTEST ARE - 

First Place - Linda Hatcher - The Dog Days of Summer

Second Place - Jonnie Sue Willis - Polio Hits

Third Place - Cindy Buford - My Story

Fourth Place - Jackie Leffingwell - A Love Story

Fifth Place - Dorothy Starnes - Artie Mae and Dorothy Bell

The winners were determined by the number of reads each had in three days on Foreverahillbilly.
All were well written and very interesting. Thank you for entering! You guys are just really good!

     

Forever A Hillbilly: Moving on South

Forever A Hillbilly: Moving on South:       At Andersonville, we spent some time at the Civil War POW Camp. That was a nightmare place. Not enough food, bad water, little cover...

Moving on South

      At Andersonville, we spent some time at the Civil War POW Camp. That was a nightmare place. Not enough food, bad water, little cover from the elements. Actually, It was just a big field with a palisade wall around it, teen age guards all around, trained to shoot to kill if anyone got within 10 feet of the wall. A creek running through it was the only source of water, and It was quickly contaminated with human waste. Thousands from the north died there.

     Our next stop was one of our inexpensive-type stops. My nephew Stan and Missy Arrington's  driveway. Stan had always been an outdoor, woodsy type guy. He was now a forester, and a dutch oven cooking expert. They had a fenced back yard, except at the back, which was bordering a bayou. They had a big, pretty white rabbit that had the run of the place. One day, Missy was at the kitchen window, and a large gator came up out of the bayou and gobbled the pretty white rabbit up. They have two children, Mandy and Thomas. Mandy was always all about horses, growing up, and she is now about to get a Masters degree in horse knowledge. I'm just not sure what that degree would be called. When we woke up the next morning, at daylight, Thomas, a small boy then, walked by our RV and disappeared from our vision. When we came out of the RV, later, he was just sitting up in top of a tall tree, just looking. Thomas went on to achieve, in college, membership in that group of nearly naked, painted young men that you might see at Mississippi State football games. He now seems to have matured, however, because he's about to travel to the Philippines and spend a good bit of time traveling up remote rivers, seeking unreached people for Christ. I would say he's being promoted, how about you? Missy is a big wig at Mississippi State.

     We toured Savanna, with its Forest Gump bench, where he sat with his box of chocolates on Chippewa  Square. But we forgot to bring our chocolates.

     Our next stop was at Mark Twain State Park, well out into the Okefenokee Swamp. The swamp was formed when the Swanee River spread out over a wide area, 50 miles across. It is a wild area that man was unable to successfully cross until well up into the 1900's. I had been here before, on one of my Pork and Beans Trips. Barbara had not. I wanted to give Barbara a real taste of the swamp, but before heading out in a small boat, I gave her the gator lecture. I told her it was wintertime here, the gators were cold, and would not try to come in our boat. But, we will be very close to many. If you come close to one, and jump up and run, you will swamp the boat, then we'll be right down in amongst' um'. Stay still. A ranger told of getting a report of a boat being swamped, people in the water. When they got there, they were still hanging onto the boat, surrounded by 40 gators. Just looking. I called up several foxes to a photo session with my predator call. Then it was time to head on down the road.

     We went down the west coast of Florida, and saw so many different birds and other animals at reserves along the way, I wouldn't even try to tell you about all of them. Sea Cows stood out. Very large swimming mammals, about the size of a walrus, but they had a habit of swimming just under the surface, and many got cut up by outboards.

     We left our RV at Miami, then drove on down to the south most point of the USA at Key West. The sunset was one of a kind, and everyone turned out for a big party at sunset. We spent the night in a B&B, then back to Miami.

     We toured the Everglades. A foreign guy was taking a little trail ahead of us, and he ran back, pointing, saying, “chicken! Chicken!” It turned out to be one of those big footed little birds, that walks around on lily pads. I didn't know the name of it either, so I really don't know what the purpose of that little story was. Certainly not educational.

      Barbara and a large gator were looking at each other. Barbara asked a ranger what was keeping him from just coming and getting her. He said, “He's sizing you up. If  he decides he's bigger than you, he will.” Well, they were a pretty good match, and she didn't give him time to make his decision. She broke for the car. Barbara just has something that makes big animals make a run at her, tame or wild. Not the least of which was a small grizzly bear.  I have heard that a Gator can outrun a horse for 20 feet, and I never believed those slow-seeming animals could really do that, until I saw one make a run for a bird once. They can come up on their toes and just fly for a short distance.

     We had seen both of Florida's coasts before, so we decided to head back up the middle. We drove through endless acres of Sugar Cane to Lake Okeechobee. We camped very near the lake on the south end. It is Florida's largest lake, though shallow. I have heard of fishermen out in the middle of the lake, seeing almost no land, swamping the boat, then going into a panic, until they realize they can stand up.

     That south end must sorta be like an elementary school for small gators, since they abound, and will crawl right up to the RV at night. One woman wanted to show Barbara how a gator would go right for her fishing lure. It did, she jerked it hard, and the lure flew back and slapped Barbara smack in the face. Barbara got away from that woman.

Forever A Hillbilly: The Sixty Year Promise Best Family story contest

Forever A Hillbilly: The Sixty Year Promise Best Family story contest: The deadline  is approaching! the Best family story contest ends Sept. 1.  The leader, based on the most reads in three days, along with t...

The Sixty Year Promise Best Family story contest

The deadline  is approaching! the Best family story contest ends Sept. 1.  The leader, based on the most reads in three days, along with the honerable mention stories are listed below. If you still wish to enter, I must recieve it at least three days before the deadline.

The leader - The Dog Days of Summer by Linda hatcher, 334 reads.  Honorable mention - Polio, by Jonnie Willis - 236;  My Story, by Cindy Buford - 184;  A Love Story, by Jackie Leffingwell, 149; Artie Mae and Dorothy Bell, 143. All of these stories were wonderful! You guys are so good!

     

Forever A Hillbilly: Multiple Troubles

Forever A Hillbilly: Multiple Troubles:      We drove through Maryland. The leaves were not quite at their peak yet, but we saw it a couple of years later, backtracking I must ...

Multiple Troubles

     We drove through Maryland. The leaves were not quite at their peak yet, but we saw it a couple of years later, backtracking I must admit, which we try to avoid. The second time around, Maryland was as glorious as New England was now. Moving into West Virginia, it was a hard trip. Even on this great interstate now through these mountains. Its hard to imagine the hardships of the pioneers, traveling here. We camped at Broken Wheel Campground, and the name seemed appropriate. West Virginia is a poor state, very rich in natural beauty – and coal.

     The old grist mill on a rushing brook at Babcock State Park, which of course we pictured, is a great photo attraction. We have seen photos of it, all over the country. The New River Gorge is actually very old, and the world's longest single arch steel bridge spans it, 867 feet above the river below. The coal seam is about three quarters of the way to the top, and it's easy to mine. Just drop the coal to the valley below, haul it off. Many sky divers gather at the New River Gorge bridge one day each year, to risk killing themselves. I just don't have that urge.

     This was a backward, isolated area for so long, before this high tech corridor we came down. Travel was hard for these friendly people, who speak so much like the Arkansas hill people of my youth. The slang is so similar, it is amazing. I know they never visited back and forth much, over these mountains. The New River is also a top white water river.

 Kentucky Troubles

      The RV would not start after a stop at Hawk‘s Nest, the first of a string of automobile troubles. It had to be towed 40 miles to have a new ignition switch put in. Thanks for the tow, Good Sam!

     Arriving at Beaver Dam, Kentucky, we were having battery problems. We spent the night. A large party seemed to be scheduled for tonight, so we went downtown. We were walking down the street, surrounded by hundreds of people. The music started to kick in. Every single person there, and I mean every one, stopped and started tapping a foot. Everybody except us. Now if that's not a bit weird. Then, the music really kicked in, and again, every single person, except us, just literally danced onto the street! Not together, really, just dancing. We looked around for the movie cameras. Surely we were on a movie set.  

     When we got back to the RV park, a track with small race cars roared to life. Naturally, we had to go look. These were kids driving these cars. But they were very loud and very fast! I knew these kids didn't even have a driver's license yet.

     On down the road a ways the next day, what we thought was battery problems turned bad. Alternator problems. It was Saturday, and new one was hard to find, but we did, and I was determined to do it myself. We pulled into a truck stop, and I got my tools out. I discovered a guy in the truck stop that used to be a mechanic, but now he was just working there at odd jobs. He started supervising me, and kept coming out at intervals to keep me on the right track, for a good part of the afternoon. He would not take pay, but we left some for him anyway, when we pulled out the next day. We have stayed in touch with him over the years. A good man.

Forever A Hillbilly: The Tall Ship Cory

Forever A Hillbilly: The Tall Ship Cory:      At St. Andrews, close to the Maine border, we booked a whale watching trip on the tall sailing ship Cory. We only saw two whales. Jus...

The Tall Ship Cory

     At St. Andrews, close to the Maine border, we booked a whale watching trip on the tall sailing ship Cory. We only saw two whales. Just as it happened, son Corey was in Seattle at the time, to speak at a Photographer's Convention, and looked out to sea and saw a whale. Now, how would I say this: We saw a whale on the east coast from the Cory, while Corey saw a whale on the west coast. Did you follow me on that?

     As it turned out, the crew of the Cory was as interesting as the whales. The deck hand was a tall, slim woman. Barefooted, she climbed like a cat to the top of the mast and handled those sails and ropes like the professional she is. She climbed all the way to the top, carrying our camera, just to take our picture. Her face was very weather beaten, the effects of hundreds of voyages. She is an illustrator in the winter, and in summer, she makes three trips a day, seven days a week, May-September. The Captain built the ship himself in New Zealand, and sailed it around the world in six years. But those two don't even come close to being the most interesting of the crew. “Bear” Ledger is an Acadian folklorist, a story teller, and a musician. He tells his folklore in poem and in song. He plays the accordion, bagpipes, and fiddle on ship, and plays eight other instruments. He just starts doing his thing, on deck, whether anyone is around or not. But we are all soon there, listening. His dream is to travel to Louisiana, to visit his cousins, the Cajuns, and compare his folklore to theirs.

We went through Passamaguoddy Bay, through the Bay of Fundy. We passed Rosevelt's cottage, where he used to take his mistress, or so we were told.  A small rocky island appeared to have a snow covering. But it was bird waste, from the thousands of birds who made it home. The Bay of Fundy is a major natural reserve of life. 

     Barbara was recruited as Captain, for a time, and got to sail the ship. She asked about the life jackets. The captain told her, “This is the North Sea. If you fall overboard, you'll be dead in three minutes. You don't need a life jacket.”  I was recruited to haul in the jib sails at the end of the trip. Now, where's the fairness in that? Barbara's steering the ship, I'm wadding up sails. But, the Captain seemed to enjoy her company more that mine. Can't say I blame him. Barbara's a fun girl.

     A friend of mine from McCrory, where we lived for a time, was a saturation diver in the North Sea for an oil company. A French company nearby averaged losing a diver a day, for a time. A dangerous job, but it pays well. He was all about danger. He came to McCrory and began piloting a helicopter spraying crops. He clipped the tail rotor off once on a power line. Without a tail rotor, a helicopter just goes round and round in the direction the blade is turning until it crashes. He broke his leg. The upside was, I could always beat him at tennis while he wore a boot.

     The Bay of Fundy was one of the great natural wonders we experienced. If you ever go to Maine, go up just a little farther and book a trip on the tall sailing ship Cory. It's a great experience. We explored New York for a few days, but you have all done that, so I’ll just jump on past to the Amish Country.

   

     At Starlight camp, we were on top of a mountain overlooking the Amish country. Farms seem to have 20 or 30 acres. Dozens of giant hot air balloons were taking off at daylight. They make good use of their land. We went to an Amish Farmer's Market the next day. Shoofly Pie, fresh squeezed apple juice. Barbara was about to take a picture of two Amish men, playing checkers. They waved it off, no pictures. They were making a living off the tourists, and I thought that was a little odd. We overate chocolate at Hershey. Horse and buggy rigs were just everywhere. The simple life has it's attraction, taking life directly from the land. Many of their harvesting devices were familiar, from Wing, many years ago.

     We moved to Gettysburg, and toured the battle site. So much pain and death on these fields. The last man to fall on Pickett's charge fell right here, by these bushes. We left out on a dreary morning, somehow appropriate. Past a statue of an officer on his horse at the crest of a hill, past thousands of crosses standing in straight rows. We don't want to glorify war, but we must pay tribute to these brave men. We were glad we saw it, even more glad when we left.

Forever A Hillbilly: The Tidal Bore

Forever A Hillbilly: The Tidal Bore: THE TIDAL BORE WAS A REALLY NEAT THING. The Bay of Fundy lies between Nova Scotia and New Brunswick, and has a funnel shape. We were near ...

The Tidal Bore

THE TIDAL BORE WAS A REALLY NEAT THING. The Bay of Fundy lies between Nova Scotia and New Brunswick, and has a funnel shape. We were near the apex of the funnel. Partially because of the shape of the bay, and partially because of the timing of the tides, the difference between high tide and low tide is the greatest in the world. Up the two rivers that run in at the apex of the bay, the effect is magnified even more. We were on one of those rivers. When the tide came in, it was so fast a wall of water two feet high was out in front. Many people paddled canoes far down the river, and rode the tidal bore back up. That was really something special to see. At harbors along the bay, fishing boats had to go and come at high tide, or they would find themselves on the sea floor. They had to change the departure and return time each day, with the changing of the tides. It was not unusual to see a wharf, 50 feet  above a boat lying on the bare sea floor.

     Leaving Nova Scotia behind, we traveled along the bay to St. Johns, New Brunswick. We went to a mall that had lifelike sculptures of ordinary people, clustered about in different positions. Barbara just loved to station herself in a position among them, then move and speak when somebody came by. It sometimes scared the wits out of folks. But that's just Barbara. Get her out where she will never see anybody she knows, and she can be a totally different woman. St. Johns was where many Tories moved to after the Revolutionary war. It has a reversing waterfall, where the rising tide quickly overcomes a tall waterfall when it rolls in.

     I loved to walk out on the sea floor at low tide, with scattered pools around, just full of  sea life. Any rock turned over hides starfish, urchins, and numerous other sea animals I didn't recognize. One has to pay close attention to the tide, however. If one gets far out and the tide comes in, it can quickly surround you and cut off escape. Once, I walked a quarter of a mile or so out. When I started back, the tide was starting to come in. It chased me all the way back, full speed, which, I must admit, was not all that fast.

Forever A Hillbilly: Prince Edward Island

Forever A Hillbilly: Prince Edward Island:       The Confederation Bridge into Prince Edward Island was the longest marine bridge in the world at that time. It was very ...

Prince Edward Island

   

 The Confederation Bridge into Prince Edward Island was the longest marine bridge in the world at that time. It was very high, also, and you already know how that affects me.

     We camped near the middle area of the island. The full-time RV'ers there called us “babes” in full timer lingo. When I started to whine and tell one of them about our motor problems, he waved it off. “Just fix it, and move on down the road. Don't worry about it, it will mess up your trip.” I told that to myself many times, later, going on down the road.

     We unloaded the car, and set in to see the north half of the island. We soon passed something like a Forestry Festival, although I couldn't figure out how their very short gnarled trees up on that end of the island could be a big thing to them. I guess, If that's just all you've got, you learn to appreciate them.  Climbers with spikes on were running up very tall poles to the top, to try to ring their bell first. I don't know where they could have found poles that tall, amid their short, stumpy, forests of trees.

     We stopped at an Irish Moss Interpretive Center. Irish Moss is used as a thickening agent in many foods. When a Nor' Wester‘ blows that moss in toward shore, they hitch their horses to a rake, and horse and man wade that freezing surf, raking  that moss ashore, carrying it off by the truckloads. Tough horses, tough men. They also trap lobsters, and grow potatoes. Their specialty, Seaweed Pie, is not real good, not real bad.

     Traveling along the very windy north coast, Elephant Rock was advertised ahead. A man and two women manned the tiny booth where they charged a small fee for the attraction. The man was taking my money, and I could tell he was very embarrassed. He told me, ”I want to apologize for my appearance. I broke my dentures.”

     I just took mine out, handed them out the window, and told him, “Here, use mine until I get back.” The women died with laughter, and he loosened up some. He didn't take my dentures, thank goodness. Elephant rock was out in the sea, and it looked the part, somewhat. The trees were down to about head high on this coast, and it was extremely windy.

     At the far north east corner of the island, something very neat was happening. Two seas met, rolling in to meet each other along a tiny strip of land, that extended far out. That little strip was just filled with hundreds of strange little birds. Occasionally, they flew, but always returned to that narrow strip. I guess they were feeding there. Many different kinds of wind driven devices were being tested there.

     These were hardy, hard working people along this north coast. Beautiful in summer, but we could just imagine what a horrible place it must be in the winter.

     We moved down to Charlottetown, in the middle of the southern half of the island. We saw a high wire act with a man juggling running chain saws. I told you they were tough. I didn’t get a chance to see if there was really a chain on that saw.  If so, that would have really gotten my respect. I cut my leg once with one, and I’ve never felt anything quite like it, except later when a pit bull grabbed my leg.

     The southern part was more touristy, very beautiful. Taller but still short trees allowed one to see vast areas. Every view was like a post card. We saw Ann's house, of  “Ann of Green Gables.” Along the coast, lots of lobster traps, light houses. Many, many potato farms. Summertime in the south of Prince Edward Island was literally like living in a post card. As I said that day,  “If farmers have a special Farmer's Heaven, This is what it would look like. Maybe more like Farmer's Hell in a few months.”

Goodbye, Prince Edward Island.

     Prince Edward Island didn't go quietly, or easily. We got lost on the way to the ferry, got on a bad, tiny road, meeting one large load of dirt after another in dense fog. We entered the belly of the huge ferry with minutes to spare.

     Our last glimpse of Prince Edward Island came as the ferry pulled out and the fog rolled in. Prince Edward Island, I want to see you again. But I probably won't. There's far too much world ahead yet to see to ever backtrack.

Forever A Hillbilly: Quebec City

Forever A Hillbilly: Quebec City:    Quebec City is a walled city, from times past. The people seem to look different from others we have seen, but a lot like each ot...

Quebec City

   Quebec City is a walled city, from times past. The people seem to look different from others we have seen, but a lot like each other. I've noticed this before in isolated places. Those French speakers would not speak English to another Canadian, and were very standoffish until we told them we were Americans, then they warmed up and spoke English well.

     Barbara started reading the Bible through that day, and finished it on the trip. Gives you some idea how long that trip was.

     We discovered Expo Quebec was going on, something like our Arkansas State Fair, but very different. I found a parking spot in a man's yard nearby for a small fee. Then, the man said we had to leave our car keys with him, in case he had to move cars around. Now, that was not something I was accustomed to doing at our state fair, so finally, I just took everything of value out of the car, put it in a big backpack, and carried it around all day. When we got back at the end of the day, he was still standing right beside our car, guarding it. I felt bad, and I could tell his feelings were hurt, but he was nice about it.

     We saw a lot of new stuff at that Expo. Cheese sculptures, sand sculpture, all very intricate, chickens with feathers down to the end of their toes, milk cows with giant udders, and a woman diving from a 40 foot tower into a play pool of water six feet deep.

     When we got back to the RV park, and were loading up, Barbara drove the car up the ramps onto the car dolly. Those french women screamed with amazement, then they all came over and hugged her! You would have thought she had just dived off a 40 foot tower or something! Trying to drive out of the park backwards, because I couldn't read the sign, I got hung up between two trees. All those people turned out and started directing me, in French.

     Moving on out the St. Lawrence Seaway, we blew a tire on our car dolly at Bic. The man at the only station had only one tire that would fit, and there were no other possibilities anywhere around. But he still gave me a cut-rate deal. I'm not really sure if he just liked me, or he was helping me to get on out of there, but we always got very fair treatment at the hands of French-Canadians. Little did we know, they were about to save our necks in a major way, a little bit farther down the road.

     Farther along, we left the Seaway and headed inland, across the mountains to the Acadian Coast of New Brunswick. The Acadians were kinfolks of the Louisiana Cajuns.

Big Trouble

      Traveling across the mountains, I started hearing a strange noise in my RV motor. It got worse. As we moved out of the mountains, it would barely run. Finally, it shut down, but we were still rolling down an incline out of the mountains. We were out on a peninsula, and it appeared to me we were about as far from help as we could get in North America, without going polar. We entered Caroquet, a very isolated little town out on the far end of that peninsula. We rolled to a stop, literally, right in front of the only truck repair place we had seen in many days. I went in to talk, and they could barely speak a little English. Finally, they figured out I was having motor troubles. They came out. The motor access was right beside the driver's seat. They took their shoes off, spread out a cloth around the whole area so as not to make a mess, and opened it up. The diagnosis was a thrown rod, and I knew that would cost a couple of thousand at home. He suggested they could tie that rod up, and we could limp on home one cylinder short. “Can you fix it?” I asked. Yes, they could. It would take all day tomorrow, and they would have to bring in extra help. I didn't want to face all those hills ahead short one cylinder, so we went for it. They brought out an extension cord, said we could live there for the duration.

     Barbara  and I went to an Acadian Village the next day, set up like their pioneers lived, and the people dressed the part. Their pioneer life on this cold coast made our pioneers look like a cakewalk. The English had pushed the Acadians up to this lonely, cold coast many years ago.

     Back at the RV, they had finished up. The total bill, when changed into dollars, was about $700. They had been extremely nice and helpful throughout, and after paying the bill, I wrote a very nice letter of recommendation, so that other travelers would know they were really good people. We said goodbye, and headed on.

Forever A Hillbilly: A Year On The Road

Forever A Hillbilly: A Year On The Road:   I  WAS KIDDING WITH BARBARA ONE DAY. “When we get out of our photography studio, let's buy an RV, rent out our house, and travel for a...