Category: adventure



Many years ago, Hubby, two daughters and I lived on Tom’s Creek Road, in rural Reynolds County Missouri.

The road wound and twisted through a small valley, passing a few homes and small farms. Tom’s Creek itself, roamed across fields, along the roadside, looping and singing as it wended along.

Driving the road at night, one would often find a deer or several grazing along the roadside edge or a passing fox or coyote racing across the open space.

The year we lived there, the kids often played in the 6 – 8 inches of water that slipped over rocks near our house. Once or twice rainstorms raised the flow to the top of the 2 foot bank separating our little cabin from the then rushing flow.

Winter brought a couple of ice storms that made leaving impossible without 4 wheel drive; there was no other way to get over the hills at either end of the road.

Fast forward now, Forty-five years or so…

This past weekend, I traveled another Tom’s Creek Road. This one in West Virginia and due to a malfunction with GPS.

In the dark hours of early morning, the unit directed a left turn onto Tom’s Creek Road. Grandson, Randy, my driver and I mentioned how odd/funny/interesting that was. You know, ‘here we drive 800 miles only to find ourselves right back home.’

This one came off a small mountain, filled with several sharp curves and many many deer congregated quite often in the middle of those curves. I did not actually see the creek in the darkness, assuming it was somewhere below the steep edge of the road hugging the mountain side.

There is another local road that fits the West Virginia Tom’s Creek Road, more than its namesake here.

Finally we reached the bottom and a small town near our destination. When we left, we went out the same way, finding that during daylight it was not quite so exciting, merely very picturesque and pleasant.

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The search


You may be aware that I have a certain fascination with things old.

Attending an auction this past week, I ran across a lovely Singer treadle machine, with interesting markings and a metal plate on the cabinet. US WPA was the marking on the cabinet. I had never seen this before, so armed with photos, I did a bit of searching.

The machine was made in 1926, further questing of the fine sources on the internet told me that this machine was one of many used by women in the Great Depression in sewing projects nationwide.  Clothing was the main project, but toys and stuffed animals were also made.

I knew the WPA was responsible for many local road improvements and the building of numerous schools in our area. Jobs created for men who would otherwise not be able to provide for their families. This was the first time I had found out there were jobs created for women.

This machine was sold to another buyer, I talked to her and hope she knows the treasure she has.

 

 

 

 

 


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Saturday dawned cool and bright. Hubby’s brother arrived during the night to join us.

With stars still in the sky they headed down to the eddy to fish.

I was enjoying a cup of coffee when suddenly the camper began to shake and my cup danced wildly across the table. Before it was done, I grabbed the cup and realized it was an earthquake.

Our camping spot is pretty near the infamous New Madrid Fault, so I was more than a bit concerned.  I texted the daughters and soon found that this quake was centered in Oklahoma.

That was a relief!

Saturday afternoon, the ferry had mechanical issues and was stopped on the Kentucky side.  I was sitting under our canopy, enjoying life. People would walk over to ask questions, no problem as long as they stayed outside the canopy, but some would not. Walking into my space and giving our camp and equipment a once or twice over. A few seemed to think I should be providing food and drinks. Um, NO!

Lots of traffic had to be diverted. Many travelers spent a few minutes lamenting the fact that GPS routed them to this place at the ‘end of the world’ as the shortest route. It is only the shortest route if the ferry is running. I was rather amazed at the many complaints that came from folks who resented having to wait for the ferry, even when it was running on schedule.

So many did not notice the beauty, glimpse the bald eagles, deer, the beginning hints of autumn color in the trees and so many interesting things going on.

 

 


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Wednesday, August 31: Hubby has checked and rechecked the weather and water stage for out favorite spot on the Mississippi River. It’s all clear and clear that we need to make a trip!  We have a place on private property neat the Dorena -Hickman Ferry we really enjoy.

Most of the day was spent loading the camper, we managed to leave about 5 PM, well aware we would arrive after dark.

One stop for gas and a few groceries and one farther down the road at Love’s truck stop in Sikeston for fried chicken (dinner) and Dunkin Donuts got us to our destination about 8:30 PM. Not a problem this trip, since we have the camper and do not have to put up a tent in the dark.

When we pulled up near the ferry landing, a large van was sitting at the ferry loading ramp.  A uniformed man got out and came over to the truck. He showed us his badge and credentials and asked “When will the ferry run?” Taking a few moments to explain he was driving a Federal Prison Transport and GPS had brought him there as the shortest route to his destination.

Sadly, we had to explain that the ferry would not be there until around 7 AM and gave him directions to the nearest bridge.

We pulled into ‘our’ spot, did some quick unloading and went to bed.

Rising early, we set up the outdoor cooking area, canopy and got things organized for our weekend. A few minutes after 7, as we are enjoying a cup of coffee and Hubby prepares to go fishing, the ferry pulls in to let off the first passengers of the day.  As usual, they blast off the horn to let those waiting know they have arrived.

We hear the loudspeaker, Capt. Jeremy and the deck hand greet us with a hearty hello and the question “What’s for breakfast?” Prompted, no doubt, by the fact that usually we send food down to the boat. They often send us some oft he Asian Carp the land on the boat to use for bait.

Egg sandwiches were delivered to the crew on their next run.


It’s a wonderful Spring Friday, sunshine, blooming lilacs and a bit of R&R as the busy-ness of a traveling week winds down.

On Wednesday our champion bronc rider, Rochelle Two Ropes, posted a photo for the rodeo known as Friday Fictioneers. The photo, this week, from Madison Woods is supposed to start our horses on to the event, to tell a story in around 100 words.

Not the easiest of challenges at times, sometimes that 8 second ride results in a buck-off. Mostly though we make it and hit the score card.

This week, a couple of down on their luck cowboys are preparing to do a days work.

RIDIN’ THE WIRE

Coffee. Lane clanged the tin cup against the battered pot. That was all there was.wire ff 4-22 Madison Woods

Hard work between rodeos!

High above, a hawk screamed a jackrabbit fighting in its talons.

“Food!” Clay thought, picking up his six-gun and shot.

The red tail dropped his prey, flying fast.

Lane shook his head, “Let’s get this done, back to the ranch for dinner”.

 

For more, from other cowboys, riders and clowns  Click here http://www.inlinkz.com/new/view.php?id=625937

Fellow Fictioneers, some of that busy-ness (translate to health issues and travel) may keep me from the usual round of comments. I will attempt to at least read and ‘like’ all the posts. M

 

 

 


Hubby was watching the weather this morning. “It’s supposed to snow in the Rocky’s, up to two feet.”

This led my mind on a tangent, back many years. We had made a road trip with young children to California in late April. Our trip back included driving through Colorado.

We took an extra day, to visit places Hubby remembered from his childhood. A lovely day, so fine in fact, that we purchased some camping essentials to spend the night at a camping area we found.

Hubby purchased a fishing pole and license then headed to a nearby stream for some trout fishing.

The kids and I hiked around the camping area, enjoying the mountains and glimpses of animals.

About noon, the temperature began to drop, and snow began to fall. Late in the afternoon, a ranger came by, advising us to ‘leave, unless you are prepared to stay several days’.

We packed up, not being in a position to do be ‘snowbound’.

The snow followed us past Denver, piling up 6+ inches on slick winding roads, assuring us that leaving was the right decision.

Today, I think back, all because of a weather report.

 

 


Saturday morning, we set out for adventure.

As often happens, the original plan got sidetracked, but fate intervened to give something better. The road we traveled passed The Battle of Pilot Knob State Historic Site, near Ironton, MO.

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Welcome to the Historic Site

This park commemorates the site of the Battle of Pilot Knob from the Civil War. A dedicated group of reenactors provide living history at times. Saturday was one of those times.

Spring Encampment was going on. Much less crowded and ‘busy’ than the battle reenactment later in the year, it was easy to access all of the camp and talk to reenactors in a more relaxed setting.

Everyone we met was willing to share information about their part in the war effort.

It is really amazing at how much support was required, not only soldiers, medical personnel and all the equipment but blacksmiths, laundresses, musicians. Some of the officers even had personal slaves to serve them.

 


It’s once again time for another exciting episode of Friday Fictioneers. The challenge to write a story in approximately 100 words. Our great hostess is Rochelle, follow this link to read other entries and play along.  http://www.inlinkz.com/new/view.php?id=619839

The prompt is a photo by Marie Gail Stratford.

ff3-31-16 Marie Gail Stratford

I have to admit, this week the challenge was pretty difficult. But I finally managed to tell my story in exactly 100 words.

Thunk, thunk, the chopper blades rattle, our bird comes in over the street.

“There, Charlie, that’s our target.”

“Ray, can you get down? I don’t have a clear shot.”

Turbulence rocks the chopper as Ray tries to bring us lower between the buildings.

“Charlie, they’re on the move, hurry!”

“A little more, I can’t get it!”

The chopper tilts at an angle.

“I got them, Ray!”

A magazine slaps into place, perfect shot, thumb to automatic, press the trigger!

“Charlie Counts, CRCT, here with a live report on the suspects fleeing down Elm Street.”

 

 


Big Creek inlet 2016, 15, 14

Yesterday, Hubby felt we needed to go to one of our favorite fishing spots on the upper reaches of Current River.

The large picture is from that trip, serious flooding over the winter has washed away a large part of the low bluff, The ‘green’ picture is from July 2015, and the camp fire picture from June 2104 .

Mother Nature and Father Time have changed the landscape. The spot where we had our campfire has now slid into the water and traveled down stream.

Things change, I hope enough of ‘our little bluff’ remains for a few more years, for fishing and camping as the grand kids learn to enjoy it too.

 


River, river, I hear you whisper.

Calling softly as you dance over the ripples.

Slipping between rocks, drifting, spinning leaves and debris.

Gently rocking bare roots on the bluff…

Soft ripples in the beaver pond,  a minnow flashes, a heron walks
I hear you whisper, I hear you call, softly, softly, singing my name.

airstrip, mayholler, maple trees on B 052