Angels have Lyres, so do wives of Fishermen...
We have been staying with Susan now for a week. So far I have found a job after several interviews, but it has its quirks. First of all I applied to work as a Nurseryman, and the boss at Wilson's nursery wants to hire me as an engraver. He wants to start engraving bricks of all things, and finds his sand blasting system (for rocks) not up to the task.
I have already done some research into this and find that laser engraving, polymer filling is the way to create this right, and wonder at what I am getting in to. He wants 1000 bricks done this way. If I pull this off it will be a miracle.
Sean has a line at working a high class restaurant in town though they have not interviewed him. Still, he knows well three of it's employees Robert (Susan's son) Noah, (Sean's Cousin) and Grant (A housemate of the other two staying here). It seems a referral this way at this business is usually a shoe-in.
Before either of us jump back into the work-a-day world again, I suggested to Sean we take a fishing trip. Sean has never in his life fished, and that is much of what Missourians and Arkansans do. So we really aught to learn if nothing else to shed a bit of our Greenhorn reputations.
We mapped out a nearby lake with camping and set off for it Saturday Morning. This was our camp
Once we set up we set off for the lake, equipped with recently purchased rods, cans of worms, hooks and bobs, looking for the stupidest fish we could find to mug. The morning was hot and we found that the fish were very clever at removing our worm and leaving the hook. It seems they had done this before. We continued to try, moving to a boat dock that was unoccupied. Another old man set up a few feet from the dock where he proceeded to catch fish about every five minutes while we just fed them our worms.
Catching them would require greater wiles on our part, so I took a cherry flavored jelly bean, adding it to my bait to catch some young fish with a sweet tooth unawares. Eventually this ridiculous strategy caught me this Nar Whale pictured here. He fought the good fight, but was no match for a completely novice fishermen like myself.
As you can see the size and ferocity of the leviathan are of an extreme nature, and I am doing all I can to keep the pipe in my mouth as I lift him over the railing. We placed the fish in a bucket of water, hoping to find more stupid fish to make a meal. I figure this one would not go very far in a skillet by himself. Sean was having no luck at all in his efforts. I suggested we use sticks of dynamite, but he would not hear of it. It was a fishing pole or nothing.
Sean would not give it up however. He did make good friends with a turtle whom stole his bait no fewer than ten times. We tried up the lake and then back down, and decided to go back to the tackle store for smaller hooks and better bait. The fish had already eaten most of our worms and were growing tired of the lack of variety. We hoped to challenge them better with a more subtle hook as well. We also picked up half a case of beer, just in case we found any beer drinking bear at camp we could throw them down and save ourselves.
We came across this portion of swampy looking bank and set up, thinking many fish might like living around underwater tree branches. It was past 6pm and I was beginning to worry Sean might fail at dumb fish catching and go home frustrated. I had already released my Nar Whale, not wanting to have to kill and gut it, and besides I bought hot dogs and sausage with the beer. I can't eat catfish. They are too cute to eat. (And taste kinda mucky).
Sean had a close encounter, then a catch. We identified it as a deadly South American Piranha that must have stowed away in the fish bowl of a recent illegal immigrant. Not wanting to eat illegal food in the country without papers, we let it go for ICE to round up later.
Satisfied with at least finding a use for fishing rods besides tangling line, we headed back to our camp. Luckily we found no beer drinking bears waiting for us, so we decided to lighten our load by a few ounces so as not to over tax the Jeep's transmission.
Sean soon was wandering around the camp singing Bavarian Beer Drinking tunes and dancing in lederhosen. I shed my shirt to demonstrate I too was of white Germanic Heritage. Ya, Ve ist der Master race when it comes to drinking cheap beer. Good fortune shown upon us again, (or perhaps it was Sean's I-phone and it's flash attachment) and in a nearby stream I caught an entire school of red checker fish. The black ones however eluded me, thus I had only the red ones. Since one has to have both red and black ones to get them to play checkers together, I decided that since I had given the Narwhale and the Piranha clemency, it was high time I was rewarded. Thus I fried them up with chili, hot sauce and hot dogs.
Sean watched with keen interest as I prepared our meal, taking only a moment or two to find a comfortable place to watch and wait for dinner.
After a good meal, we discussed getting up at 5 am and going back to catch more fish. We agreed this was the plan and squeezed into our tent. During the night raccoons raised our camp and I had to chase them off. I put away the trash they were after and squeezed back into the tent, an experience for me much like being born. By 4 am it was raining. Morning came finding us unwilling to crawl out of our bunks to almost 7 am. It was wet and not exactly great fishing weather (at least not from the catching point of view as far as comfort.) Sean had a chill so we decided to break camp and cash in our fish and chips.
I woke to a heavy rain that came down relentlessly through the night. The neighbor in the motel room next door was having a drama of some kind...dare I make a guess, a marital dysfunction? A beautiful young girl of about 30 kept arriving in a red van at his room, sitting in the parking lot and crying, then going in, then leaving again, over and over again through the night. He would then get agitated, get on his cell phone and pace back in front of his (and my) door talking in loud tones that I made effort not to listen to. By morning with the rain it was a somber night and morning of melodrama.
Sean and I traveled on with coffee and rain and a bleak prospect of anything today but travels. "What would I write about tonight?" I wondered. Surely nothing adventurous can happen in such cold damp conditions, and it being mid July that seems hardly a fair deal on the weather end of it. I spoke a bit harshly with God about all the rain. Sorry God, as usual I failed to see the big picture.
We stopped off about 11:30 to eat lunch at a country café and had the best meal I have eaten in days. The waitress was friendly and I had time to read the local add magazine for the Southern Missouri farming community. Quite enlightening things could be found there such as the price of tractors, what farms were up for auction and the cost of a gallon of hand picked blackberries.
On a lark, based only on a sign from the freeway we decided to seek out an antique shop we saw advertised in a small town called Hermann, about 15 miles south of I 70. I was expecting some dusty little shop between fruit and vegetable stands but instead discovered the most unusual little town I never expected to see.
This is the Hamlet of Hermann, with German Immigrant ancestors on the banks of the Missouri River, it is a hub of cultural activities including live music, breweries, wineries, sausage makers, and many antique shops. We were blown away by the out of place looking European style architectures, the quaint decorations and best of all, on street free parking with no pesky meters.
Sean and I entered several shops finding a wealth in curiosities, some quite affordable. I resisted the temptation to buy very much and settled on a wooden duck covered in brass
and copper that went for $7. Sean bought a belt buckle that had a pro Gun message. He is turning in to quite the enthusiast for redneck philosophies. He will fit in well in the Ozarks.
We toured the town and I was most impressed by the courthouse which had it's own dome like a State Capital and sat imposingly on the highest hill like a castle overlooking it's serfdom. Finishing off the trip we made it to Columbia where we met Susan, my Nephew Noah, Susan's partner Bob and others to begin phase II of the trip, actual relocation. Sean put in applications on Saturday and Sunday, and I have an interview this Monday at a local nursery that grows tomatoes. I will keep you informed as to the progress. So far things have all fallen into place. Lord, please keep my luck running good.
Mayo and Burgers...NO!
What is it lately with Burger chains putting Mayonnaise on all their hamburgers as the default condiment? Twice today I had to scrap the stuff off my sandwiches in two different national chains...it just isn't American. Either leave off all condiments or mustard or catsup...but NOT mayo. Its a French food conspiracy, I am sure of it.
Today was Day three of the trip and we made it across Kentucky, Indiana and into Illinois. I would have traveled slower but for two things. Thing one, it rained like a biblical flood, and thing two, much of Western Kentucky, all of Indiana and what I've seen so far of Illinois are long endless expanses of corn fields unbroken by so much as a frustrated Scarecrow. For variety the farmers would treat us once in a while to a field of soy beans to break the monotony, but elsewise it was an all cornfield holiday.
Backing up to the morning, we did take a side trip to Boonesboro, as I had suggested in the last entry. We arrived early with great excitement seeing the fort. I was a bit surprised to read it had been erected in 1981 with all the names enshrined of the Chamber of Commerce who paid for construction. I was further dismayed when I read the sign by the entry. The fort was not there to keep out Indians, unless they each had with them six dollars.
We peeked in and decided we could see in about as well as we could wander around and held back the temptation to lose 12 bucks to Daniel Boone's sneaky descendants.
On we drove through the deluge
trying to see the road and not at all interested in the passing cornfields. Into Indiana and things got only worse. The distance between stops got farther and farther and the road was so-o-o-o boring my narcolepsy kicked in. For a while I let Tokie drive, but this only made Sean nervous.
So instead once again I pulled over and took a quick nap to forgo a close encounter with a passing truck or plowing out some hapless farmer's cornfield with my out of control asleep at the switch driving. Refreshed and with the rain finally starting to stop, we pressed on across boring Indiana.
I would write the entire state off as a loss but for one accidental discovery, off the road, not advertised that we found at mile marker 25 of Interstate 64, just north of Evansville.
It was HIPPS Nursery, the finest attraction in all of Southern Indiana by my reckoning. Never has there been a plant farm with quite so pixilated a tilt to it. This greeted us at the gate. It only got better and better as we ventured in.
The security for the place was provided for by a live chicken.
The front gate was guarded as well by a life-sized hallucination.
Travels When Life Unravels
On my 58th Birthday my wife of 27 years kicked me out of the house. (Well, to be honest she only nagged me until I decided to leave). Along with my youngest Son Sean, we set out in a 1994 Jeep Sahara named JEEPNEY DRIVER VII on a cross country adventure to unknown ends. This is that story in a diary as it happens. With a bit of cash and a few friends waiting for us in Missouri and Arkansas, we overloaded the Jeep, put the remainder of our things in storage, quit our jobs (I quit 2, Sean quit one) and set out like Gypsies to a life of adventure and uncertainty. In the footsteps of Jack Kerouac we have little but our wits and an old clunker of an auto, but our hearts are free and our mission ambiguous.
This is Emma, who was the catalyst for this peculiar behavior. I don't fault her for wanting out of our marriage, only for her preferring money and things to people. I happen to be the latter, and therefore will never be close to her heart. I wish her the best in finding a rich man who loves shopping and paying her bills. I could never keep up with those debts, even working two jobs. She also fancies on staying young and beautiful eternally. I on the other hand accept I'm an old, over-weight curmudgeon and not likely to ever be young again as a given.
This is my son Sean who is sharing my adventures. He is 20 years old, has some talent as a welder and is as loyal a comrade as Emma is a fickle one. He is up for a change from his drudgery job, and doesn't fancy staying behind with his Mom. (who like me, he loves) She of late is a bicycle short of a deck of cards. He is my go-to guy when it comes to problem solving. We plan to one day start a welding business together. He prefabricated the carry-cage on the top of Jeepney Driver VII, and whenever I can't figure out this damned computer, assists me in my out-of-date ways.
Our travels began on July 7th 2015 from Fairfax County Virginia. Our route takes us through the wilds of West Virginia, Kentucky, Illinois and Missouri. From there into the Ozark Mountains and beyond. It is unusually wet for this time of year and rain has plagued our departure. The first day however was dry and boiling hot.
Sean and I share the JEEPNEY DRIVER VII with a strange little figment of my imagination known as "Tokie the Taco Lizard". Tokie predicts the future when he is in the mood. He also attracts lightning (and rain storms) when taken out in the open, so he remains concealed for the most part. Another way I can make it pour down rain is to uncover the jeep and be unable by reasons of driving it to cover it back. That would cure a seven year drought in the Sahara should I actually take the top all the way off. I call it the "Convertible Jeep Curse." It has plagued me now for 15 years.
Our first day out was for the most part uneventful. We never even made it out of Virginia, though did come within a few miles of the line. We slept in the mountains in a Motel build in the 1950s but priced in the 2020s. Still, it was nice to have a cool room after a hot July day's drive without air conditioning in half a dozen traffic jams.
By morning the rain began. We had breakfast at a Hardies in Sulfur Springs, just the other side of the West Virginia Line. Its a nice little town where all the old timers meet for breakfast and greet grandchildren and children coming in for the same . They talk about pensions and Baseball games and sip piping hot coffee over high calorie high cholesterol tater tots and eggs. You can get easily into town by an off ramp to the right on the interstate. But to get out of town you have to take the ten mile scenic view back through the tiny berg and around a few more horse farms and cow fields.
The driving in a rain takes a bit of the hot out of it, but also adds a melancholy mood to the mountain's covering. The low laying clouds cling to the dense primeval looking forests along impossibly steep climbing slopes. I am keen to find a nice carved open hill to find some fossils from the Pennsylvania Period of the Carboniferous Era. Fossil ferns, giant Dragon Flies the size of eagles, and spiders the size of house cats once adorned these places. Now they are entombed with their bodies cast in fossil stone for the looking and retrieval.
After several hours of steep up hill and break neck down hill rides we came to a perfect hillside. Fossil hunting in the rain when it is hot may be a lot like the former weather of the epoch, but remains unpleasant weather for fossil hunting. Right away we spotted stems and leaves in shale, and perfect chunks of unburned coal lying about like unmade diamonds.
Taking a few specimens we high tailed it back to the car, wishing we had better weather, a camp ground and a portable air conditioner at our disposal.
These may not look like much, but for half an hours looking they were nice souvenirs. They are a couple of fern leaves, a piece of petrified wood and a nice imprint of the side of a stem. Sorry, we failed to find any giant spider fossils. Perhaps if we had hunted for a few more minutes in the rain.
WE continued on through Charleston, capital of the state which in my opinion has the prettiest capitol dome of any I ever saw. It is gilded in gold leaf and covered in an explosion of traditional architectural styles that leave nobody in history out of the picture. If ever they decide to sell it, it would make a great second Vatican for the Pope.
I suffer from narcolepsy, which causes me to suddenly fall asleep with very little (if any) warning. To combat this I must take frequent short naps of ten to 30 minutes to stay off the sudden onset of the condition while driving. Sean is understanding, but as yet is too green at driving a clutch to help out. So he plays on his phone various computer games while we park and I snooze.
We made a turn off to find an emergency rest stop during an attack near the Kentucky line and suddenly found ourselves in Ohio. I found a small church and planned to sleep it off in the parking lot, but was surprised to discover the property totally fenced in and a locked gate. Hmmm, never happen with a catholic church, I'm sure. We parked outside the gate and I got the necessary Z's to continue on. Back into West Virginia and over into Kentucky we traveled. We discussed seeing Boonesboro tomorrow. I loved the TV show Daniel Boone as a child. Besides, we failed to see any of Stonewall Jackson's sights due to bad timing the day before.
Tonight is my first night with Internet, so, at this Motel I am beginning the blog. The idea was Sylvia's, my former choir director and long time friend. Hi Sylvia. Hi Bob. So far so good.
