“It is good to have an end to journey toward, but it is the journey that matters in the end.” —Ursula K. LeGuin
Taking trips, seeing new places, having different adventures was ingrained in me from an early age. Because my daddy loved to tell stories about historical events, he would make things come alive for me whenever we went somewhere as a family. Visiting the Civil War battlefield at Vicksburg is an early memory of mine, climbing to the top of the bluff overlooking the Mississippi River while he explained how, for a while, the Confederate forces withstood the onslaught from the Union army.
Our family could not afford long, elaborate vacations but we would take trips to Panama City to enjoy the beach and swimming in the Gulf of Mexico. Often we would join the Wengers, Aunt Suzette, Uncle Don, Peggy and Larraine, who drove down from Montgomery, AL. The adults loved to play bridge, and because no one worried about children outside the cabin alone, they would "banish" us to the beach to give them a peaceful game of cards. That's where we met the college guys from North Carolina who invited Peggy and me to a movie. (Funny how minor details stick in your mind--my new friend's name was Sam Turnipseed!) In 1952 no one assumed that this might have been dangerous. We had a great time.
A visit to New Orleans coincided with my fifteenth birthday. While there we saw the new movie, Showboat, and my birthday present was the album from the movie with Ann Blythe and Howard Keel. One of our regular places to visit was Natchez, MS because my mother’s siblings (Pyrons and Wengers) all lived there. All four families were in the furniture business, competitors, but still family. We attended the Pilgrimage of antebellum homes, visiting such beautiful mansions as Rosalie, Stanton Hall and Longwood. Daddy’s love of history was infectious as he shared details about what we were seeing.
We also went to sporting events, such as the state high school basketball tournament in Jackson or college football games. With Daddy behind the wheel, I was given the map so that I could “navigate”. I loved studying maps, reading the interesting names along the way, matching them with the signs we approached on the highway. Sometimes we ran into problems on our journeys, like the night we were driving back to Hollandale from Natchez when a deer jumped in front of our Pontiac. It was pitch dark, the car was not drivable, and we were just north of Port Gibson, 90 miles from home. A good Samaritan stopped to see if he could help. When Daddy explained our plight, this kind man took a chain from his trunk, attached it to our front bumper, and towed us behind him to our house. Then he refused to accept any pay for his kindness.
It was in the 1970’s that my parents began taking extended trips, after the 3 children were educated and on our own. They enjoyed traveling with Mother’s brothers’ and sister and spouses, often in a motor home for 2 to 3 weeks across many states. But many of their trips, particularly abroad, were with Paul and Margaret Watson, friends from their years together in high school. Mother faithfully recorded their adventures in photo albums with detailed captions. She also kept a notebook with her and recorded what they ate, where it was, and how much it cost. We would laugh at all the minutiae and attribute it to one of Mother’s quirks, little realizing that many years later those little notes would prove very interesting. And little knowing that the minutiae in my own notebook/journals would be so valuable to me.
It was in the 1970’s that my parents began taking extended trips, after the 3 children were educated and on our own. They enjoyed traveling with Mother’s brothers’ and sister and spouses, often in a motor home for 2 to 3 weeks across many states. But many of their trips, particularly abroad, were with Paul and Margaret Watson, friends from their years together in high school. Mother faithfully recorded their adventures in photo albums with detailed captions. She also kept a notebook with her and recorded what they ate, where it was, and how much it cost. We would laugh at all the minutiae and attribute it to one of Mother’s quirks, little realizing that many years later those little notes would prove very interesting. And little knowing that the minutiae in my own notebook/journals would be so valuable to me.
