A loosely planned auto vacation was one of the best vacations we ever had. We intended visiting Smoky Mountain National Park and we did. We took along a tent in case we wanted to camp out. However, someone had been killed by a bear in the park the night before. Suddenly the idea of sleeping in a tent lost its appeal. We decided something with stronger walls surrounding us would be preferable.
We did some exploring in the area. Then my husband said he had an old army friend in South Carolina, he always wanted to look up if he was ever there, so how about we extend the trip to South Carolina. We found Melvin’s friend; they invited us for lunch, and we had a very nice visit.
After that Melvin asked, “Where next?” I replied that I had always wanted to see Virginia, so how about we go there? We greatly enjoyed Virginia, especially me. Then Melvin said since we were this close, he thought I should see the ocean, being the only person in the family that had not done so. We went to Virginia Beach, Virginia. It was a gray, cloudy day, and you could hardly tell the difference between the sky and the ocean. But I was glad I got to stand there on the beach and see that great expanse of water. On some point along the east coast we got to tour a large military ship and that was something too. The two guys really liked that. Years later I saw the ocean in Florida, a beautifully blue sea and sky, with lots of sunshine. But that first glimpse of that gray ocean at Virginia Beach was a special thrill.
Now, it was time to think about which route we would take to go back home. Our teen age son spoke up and said, “Since we’re this close to Washington, D.C., I think we should go there and take a look at the White House.” We drove to D.C., visited the Capitol Building, saw the Washington Monument, Arlington and so on. We drove by the White House, stopped and looked around. Unfortunately, we only got to see the outside. It was Monday, and the White House was closed to visitors that day. Even so, I was glad our son suggested it, because that was the only time I got to visit the nation’s capitol.
Swinging westward, we drove through Pennsylvania, stopping overnight at a motel where the altitude was rather high, with red water in the faucets, and clouds you could almost touch. From there we made our way home. A thoroughly satisfactory vacation.
Showing posts with label Travel. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Travel. Show all posts
Sunday, August 23, 2009
Sunday, August 16, 2009
Gypsy Wanderers
In the blog about my Dad, I mentioned the man who lived in a house by the side of the road. Where we lived, the road in question was Missouri State Highway Number Eight. Actually we lived in three different homes by the side of that road, and each has its own story. The gypsy story came about when we lived in the first of those three houses.
There were several acres attached to the house, and a long grassy strip ran between the house and the road, probably extending three or four acres in length. The time period was the 1930s, and at that time, No. 8 was still a gravel road. Trucks and cars traveled the road, but there were also people going by in horse-drawn wagons. I do not recall, for certain, the vehicles the gypsies drove; but I believe they were older model light trucks.
It was not unusual for gypsies or hoboes [another blog later on?] to travel this road. However, their reputation was not the best. It was said they had a knack for picking up anything that was loose, if you weren’t looking. I don’t know if that was true, or blown out of proportion, as things sometimes are, because someone had a bad experience. It is not my intent to malign them, but merely to recount the incident, to give you an occasional glimpse of our lives at that time. The spokesperson for the group asked Dad for permission to camp overnight on that ideally long, grassy strip of land. What else would the man who lived by the side of the road do, but say yes? Although we were, by Dad’s example, taught kindness to others, we also were taught to keep some wariness of strangers, and look out for ourselves. I’m sure some of the neighbors thought Dad was crazy. He wasn’t; he was simply a good man.
Dad went out and talked to the people, while they worked, to get an idea of who his overnight guests were. They built a camp fire, cooked their supper, and invited us to come visit around the campfire, after they finished their meal. Dad sent word to the neighbors. The parents didn’t come up, but they allowed their children to visit. The youngest child was a girl about 10, my friend, a year or so older than I was. The ages of her brothers and sisters, ranged probably from the early to late teens.
As so often happened in those days when a group of people got together, the time around the camp fire was spent in story-telling and singing. One of the songs frequently sung when people got together was, “Froggie Went A Courtin’.” I only remember the chorus of that song. And “Where Have You Been, Biily Boy,” although I am not sure of the title of that song. That may be just the beginning line. Another favorite was “Red River Valley.”
We, perhaps, were a bit edgy with this new experience, but we were enjoying ourselves also. They encouraged us all to participate. One of the girls sang a song that had a line saying, “You can’t go to heaven taking a chew.” She got a bit nervous thinking she might have offended some of the men who were chewing tobacco, and was afraid to sing anymore.” If they noticed the implication, it was ignored, and I only recall having a good time listening to the stories, and the tales the gypsies told of their nomadic life.
There were several acres attached to the house, and a long grassy strip ran between the house and the road, probably extending three or four acres in length. The time period was the 1930s, and at that time, No. 8 was still a gravel road. Trucks and cars traveled the road, but there were also people going by in horse-drawn wagons. I do not recall, for certain, the vehicles the gypsies drove; but I believe they were older model light trucks.
It was not unusual for gypsies or hoboes [another blog later on?] to travel this road. However, their reputation was not the best. It was said they had a knack for picking up anything that was loose, if you weren’t looking. I don’t know if that was true, or blown out of proportion, as things sometimes are, because someone had a bad experience. It is not my intent to malign them, but merely to recount the incident, to give you an occasional glimpse of our lives at that time. The spokesperson for the group asked Dad for permission to camp overnight on that ideally long, grassy strip of land. What else would the man who lived by the side of the road do, but say yes? Although we were, by Dad’s example, taught kindness to others, we also were taught to keep some wariness of strangers, and look out for ourselves. I’m sure some of the neighbors thought Dad was crazy. He wasn’t; he was simply a good man.
Dad went out and talked to the people, while they worked, to get an idea of who his overnight guests were. They built a camp fire, cooked their supper, and invited us to come visit around the campfire, after they finished their meal. Dad sent word to the neighbors. The parents didn’t come up, but they allowed their children to visit. The youngest child was a girl about 10, my friend, a year or so older than I was. The ages of her brothers and sisters, ranged probably from the early to late teens.
As so often happened in those days when a group of people got together, the time around the camp fire was spent in story-telling and singing. One of the songs frequently sung when people got together was, “Froggie Went A Courtin’.” I only remember the chorus of that song. And “Where Have You Been, Biily Boy,” although I am not sure of the title of that song. That may be just the beginning line. Another favorite was “Red River Valley.”
We, perhaps, were a bit edgy with this new experience, but we were enjoying ourselves also. They encouraged us all to participate. One of the girls sang a song that had a line saying, “You can’t go to heaven taking a chew.” She got a bit nervous thinking she might have offended some of the men who were chewing tobacco, and was afraid to sing anymore.” If they noticed the implication, it was ignored, and I only recall having a good time listening to the stories, and the tales the gypsies told of their nomadic life.
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