Archive for the ‘Travel Adventures’ Category

I’m sure I heard him say, “By cracky!”

Friday, August 13th, 2021

H.A. Espy. circa 1940s

Today seemed all about memories of Papa, my grandfather H.A. Espy (1876 – 1958).  I’m not sure why.  It’s not like it was his birthday which, as I remember, was in November.  I’m certain of the year, mostly because he was, too, even though he was off by a century by the time he reached his dotage.  “Yes,” he would chuckle, “our country and I were born in the same year — 1776!”  None of us ever disabused him of this notion.  After all, he stood for all the good things our nation stood for — back in the days when we were all young.

For whatever reason, as I was pouring my first cup of coffee this morning, I could have sworn I heard Papa’s voice.  “By cracky!” he said, apropos of nothing at all — unless it was something about the day that was about to break through the foggy-foggy-dew.  I hadn’t heard or thought of that expression in years and it reminded me of a lot of other expressions he used — most of them in lieu of swearing.

Sydney and Papa’s Car, 1941

As my venerable Uncle Willard wrote in Oysterville, Roads to Grandpa’s Village:  “Papa was the most powerful nonswearer I ever heard.  His most common expletives were Son of a sea cook!  Consarn it!  Dad durn it! Dad gum it! Dad cuss it! Ding bust it! and “Sou’wegian!  The ultimate in frustration emerged as Devil! or Devilation! These harmless-appearing epithets burst from his mouth like thunderbolts.”

Sydney and Sherry & Ray’s 1931 Model A Ford, 2021

I don’t think “By cracky” falls into the nonswearing category, however.  I think he used it, rather, as an exclamation, perhaps to emphasize a comment — as in “It’s going to be a fine day, by cracky!” And, it was, too.  But not so much in the weather-sense.  More in the Visitors-to-Oysterville-sense.

A couple came in their 1928 Model A and parked in front of the church.  I couldn’t resist telling them that that I had a photo of myself standing in front of our house with my grandfather’s Model A — taken in 1941.  Whereupon, they moved their car across the street, replicated the photo with me in front of their Model A, and photographed “us” eighty years later!  I do wonder what Papa would have said about that, by cracky!!

Thanks, Mr. Frommer. You changed my life!

Wednesday, August 11th, 2021

Did the original actually look like this reproduction? I can’t remember…

In 1957, Arthur Frommer published a pioneering guidebook called “Europe on Five Dollars a Day.”  In 1958, my (then) husband and I packed up our essentials, rented out our house,  and set off with our eighteen-month-old son to find out if, indeed, we could manage on that amount of money.  We could and we did.  For a year.

We took the SS. Ryndam of the Holland American line from NYC to Calais, then the train to Paris where we bought a used Hillman station wagon and proceeded to travel as far east as Turkey, as far north as Scotland, and as far south as Morocco — not in that order. We moved at a leisurely pace, following the sun and getting off the beaten path as much as possible.  Sometimes we rented apartments for a month; sometimes we stayed in pensiones; sometimes in gasthauses or inns or hotels.

We found early on that fresh milk wasn’t always available so Charlie learned to eat yoghurt.  I got used to being scolded by well-meaning grandmothers (in French; in Italian; in Greek; in Turkish and in Yugoslavian, which I think was properly called Serbo-Croation) for delaying Charlie’s toilet-training until he was two which was what Dr. Spock, the American baby guru recommended.  Charlie’s dad and I traded off visits to museums and art galleries with child-minding duties at fabulous city parks or along exotic shores.  We tried to see and experience everything we could — within our $5.00 a day limit which for two of us plus toddler was usually less than double that amount.

Charlie at Lido di Jesolo. Venice, 1959

As the years passed, I returned to Great Britain and the Continent many times and, even after the euro came along, I still tried to follow Frommer’s general advice — eat in the “neighborhoods” not in the tourist locations; there’s nothing wrong in refusing an ensuite room and, instead, using the bathroom down the hall; treat yourself to a “big splurge” every once in a while; speak as much of the local language as you can manage; try almost anything once.

I kept detailed notes about my expenses on those trips and just ran across two of those accountings — one from 1964 (first day in Paris, $13.44, for two) and from 1974 when I acted as guide for my folks on their first European venture — a note that on June 10th I had spent 63 francs and 90 centimes or #12.78 for the day which included hotel, lunch, cigarettes, tolls (for what?)

“Those were the days my friends…”

 

The First Time Ever

Sunday, July 29th, 2018

Nyel and Sydney at the Olympic Club

Yesterday, we went to the poultry auction in Chehalis.  With us were neighbors Carol and Tucker and one very loud, very handsome, very mean banty rooster.  And did I say loud?  He was in a box just behind the back seat where Carol and I were sitting, and he protested pretty much constantly for the two-and-a-half-hour drive.

I don’t think any of us were too sympathetic.  We’ve all had issues with that bird from the get-go.  He had just ‘showed up’ at Tucker and Carol’s and proved to be a faithful and loud 5:30 a.m. crower.  Very loud.  And we all thought we were doing a good thing when Farmer Nyel and Tucker “rescued” him and introduced him to our flock.  I think we all thought (or at least hoped) that his owner would come looking for him.  No such luck.

Rescue Rooster at the Auction

So, when we heard about the poultry auction in Chehalis we decided to make a day of it.  None of us had ever been to a poultry auction which was eye-opening in itself.  Scores of hens and roosters, guinea fowl and turkeys, were in cages – individually and in family groups – waiting for the 11 a.m. starting time.  Farmer Nyel filled out the paperwork for Rescue Boy and we turned him over to one of the auction assistants.  We were assured that we’d receive a check in the mail within nine days.  Or we could stay and get paid on the spot.  As interesting as it all was, we left just as things began.

We headed for Centralia.  Nyel and I wanted to introduce Tucker and Carol to the historic (and still in use) 1912 train station and the old Olympic Club right across the street – now a McMenamin’s.  We had lunch there and then spent an hour or so exploring the street fair – an annual antiques and junk event – that we had just happened upon.  Another first and maybe the day’s highlight for the two men.

Tucker and Carol at the Olympic Club

Shortly after we got home, I looked out the east window and there was Ms. Russian Orloff right up on the porch, perhaps looking for Rescue Guy.  (It was the last place I’d seen them together – just a day or so ago.)  But before I could feel any fowl sympathy, here came our new black hen-turned-rooster running right for that lady hen.  Slam bam, he had his way with her was on his way without even a thank you, mam!  That was one event yesterday that probably wasn’t for the first time.

The Summer Itch

Saturday, June 9th, 2018

I’m crediting our recent spate of warm, sunny weather for our urge to get on the road!  Or maybe it’s the fault of our friends Fred and Vicki who recently began an entirely new lifestyle and are on their “maiden voyage” with their new-to-them-fifth-wheeler.  Or, perhaps, it’s because the Dorrances are off to Dartmouth for his 55th class reunion.  Or because more than one friend has said they are “outta here” over the Fourth.

But most likely, it’s because Nyel feels so much better than he has in several years and we’ve got the summer itch – the direct opposite of the winter itch (defined as a common name for the skin symptom of generalized itching in the winter. It is primarily caused by dry skin and is most common in the elderly.)  No, the summer itch has nothing to do with dry skin or with being elderly.  Quite the opposite.  It has to do with getting on the road and having an unexpected adventure or two!

The Nickle Plated Beauty by Patricia Beatty

But before I leave the winter itch subject – this is the first I’ve ever heard of the ‘elderly’ connection.  I’ve always associated winter itch with tales of youngsters being sewn into their winter long johns and, around here anyway, the inevitability of a drenching on the way to school.  In The Nickel-Plated Beauty, her book about the Kimball family of Ocean Park, Patricia Beatty described the cause perfectly: …but no matter how we walked, sideways or backwards or forwards, the water ran down our necks into our long underwear and made us itch.

Nope.  The summer itch I’m speaking of is a good thing.  Not a skin condition, but a set of mind.  It’s all about hitting the road, exploring new territory, making new friends or, perhaps, revisiting special places and people of the past.  And, as always, one of the best parts is the planning…