Down by the River

The sound of the old man singing still lingered on River Street in the morning air. He had been singing on the street for tips the night before.We were having breakfast at Huey's less than two hundred feet from the Savannah River.  The huge container ship blocked out the morning sun as it moved slowly upriver with its accompanying tug boats. Only the low of rumble of powerful diesels broke the morning silence. We were hungry and the menu was loaded with a vast variety of eggs benedict and various omelets. But for me it was simple fare. I decided on two eggs scrambled with bacon and cheese grits. The eggs were not of the free range variety and lacked fluff. I like my scrambled eggs fluffy. The grits with melted cheese on top were served in a bowl. It's akin to southern culinary sacrilege to serve grits this way. Does only Waffle House know how to serve grits properly? Grits served on a plate cool at the same rate as eggs and don't stay hot forever like they do in a bowl. The thick-cut bacon was spot on, great taste and little salt.

We finished our meal and decided on a walk by the river.

There wasn't much action. The revelers whom I heard at  2 am were sleeping late. A man fished from the rail near the paddle-wheel boat tied up nearby. We continued to walk, meeting joggers and dog walkers. Near the large ship's anchor dedicated to merchant seamen there seemed to be a hubbub of activity. Claudette and I stopped to investigate.

There was a photographer photographing a model. I found this quite fascinating. Claudette did not share my fascination.  My interest is not just some old man's interest in pretty girls. It's the process of capturing an image for commercial use that I like. It takes a team effort. Not just a photographer and model but other team members. The photographer directs the process. He picks the location and directs the model. Then, there is the lady who arranges the model's clothes and the one with makeup kit retouching the model's makeup. There is a young man pulling a small cart hauling a small generator. The generator is needed to power the fan which blows the long blonde tresses of the model. Oh, yes, there is an assistant to operate the fan. It is amusing to watch the model cycle through her repertoire of poses, robot-like, as the shutter of the camera clatters. The entourage moved along Factors Walk with more posing and photographing a tall skinny girl in black stretch pants, very high heels, and white blouse.  Her pretty child-like face was framed by long blonde hair. At one point the model was on  a vintage bicycle.

I enjoyed watching, but I was reminded that we needed to check out of the River Street Inn to return home.

Gravity Does It All

Chu Ram Falls

"I think we turn ahead to the left," I said in my role of navigator.

"How much farther?" the driver asked.

"According to the Internet, two miles from Westminster," I answered.

"And the Internet is always right. Remember the time we were following Internet directions in northern Utah and couldn't find the campground?" said she.

"I'll consider that a rhetorical question.  There should be a sign for Chu Ram Falls."

"What kind of name is that for an Oconee county waterfall?"

"Cherokee? maybe? I don't know.   Look, there is the road to the falls!" I said.

She made the turn onto the narrow road marked by the sign stating "Chu Ram County Park".
It was a short drive to the park. We paid our $2 fee to get into the park via the honor system and easily found a parking space in the empty parking area. There was space for at least fifty vehicles. We could hear the river as we disembarked. Our grandson leaped from the car and headed for the sound of falling water. We were unable to keep up to his pace. Perhaps being over fifty years his senior could have affected that.

There is a rather large, about 1200 square foot, building overlooking the river. We walked down to the river beside it.  It was only about one hundred feet from the parking lot to the water. A massive boulder is at the bottom of the waterfall. The waters of Ramsey Creek and the Chauga River join and tumble down a thirty foot cascade.  It's a beautiful waterfall and easily accessible. We sat on the big boulder and felt the mist of the mountain water on our faces. There were few other visitors to the park that day.  Some things are best not shared with a crowd.

We continued on Highway 76, which incidentally is a highway we travel each year to visit Long Creek for mountain apples.   We like to go after first frost, because that is when the Arkansas Black apples are available. This highway has many apple orchards, but it was lunchtime and so we weren't looking for an orchard. What we were looking for was the Chattooga Belle Farm in Long Creek.  We began looking for Damascus Church Road. There must be a half dozen roads named for churches off the left side of highway 76. but we eventually found it.

The Chattooga Belle Farm is a 138 acre working farm. We turned into the slightly eroded parking lot on the right and walked uphill toward the entrance  of the building, which appeared to be a house or barn, or a whatever. When you enter the building the maine area is about the size of a basketball court. We walked past a table with containers of tea and lemonade with accompanying cups and ice to see an open porch overlooking the valley and mountains in the distance. I was drawn immediately to this panorama. Claudette and Nathan were drawn immediately to food. Teenage boys are always drawn to food. I was summoned by Nathan telling me, "Grandpa, we have found the restaurant." I obliged by following him through a door to the left of the entrance. I found myself in what appeared to be a store selling "touristy" type merchandise, but a closer look revealed that it was primarily farm products and farm related merchandise. At one end of the store was a counter at which a pretty girl from Seneca, a few miles closer to civilization, took our lunch order. I ordered the herbal burger. I was feeling healthy. Nathan grabbed the table marker, #12, I paid, and we found a big round table to enjoy the mountain view.

The view is awesome. The low Blue Ridge Mountains seem to emerge from the blue sky. As the landscape advances forward the blue becomes green, culminating in the greens of the orchards and vineyards one hundred fifty  feet down the hill from the restaurant.  From our vantage point we could see the state of Georgia to the left and North Carolina to the right while enjoying our burgers in South Carolina.  The burgers were of grass-fed Black Angus beef, grown right on the farm. They, the burgers not the Black angus, were dressed with what I call the "Scarborough Fair" blend: parsley, sage, rosemary and thyme. A bit of lemon mayonnaise added a little zing.

As we enjoyed our food with large cups of tart lemonade we watched as tourists picked baskets of blackberries and other fruits from the vines and trees. Baskets are rented at the store for this purpose.  The Chattooga Belle Farm is open for lunch  from 11-2 and provides a venue for meetings and wedding ceremonies as well. But for us, there were other waterfalls to find.

Unfortunately the aforementioned teenager developed a stomach ache which required attention. We returned to highway 76 and stopped by the Long Creek "shopping center". There's a gas station at the end of which appears to be a row of buildings circa 1900. Actually, it's a modern structure but adds a lot of charm to the landscape and seems to be perfectly at home there.  I entered through the gas station hoping I would find a convenience store, and I did. On the shelf of medications, of which most seem to be for colds and headaches, I found a package of Alka-Seltzer. One tablet in the package. $1.99. It appeared to be new. I stood in line at the counter.  To my right was a display case with open five gallon cartons of ice cream. The sign said "Hand dipped". A man asked the large woman behind the case for some butter pecan. "Ain't got no butter pecan.  Man's bringin' some tomorrow."

"Strawberry?" he queried.

"Jest choc'let and vanilla," she said. She was a large woman with a pasty white face.  A droplet of sweat hung precariously to her left nostril.

"I'll wait 'til tomorrow."

There was only one fellow in front of me at the counter. The line moved slowly. Each customer wanted to know why Jake, the cashier, was walking with a crutch. By the time he rung up my

purchase, I really didn't care how Jake hurt his foot. I had heard at least three explanations. From the ice cream area I heard, "Cut out all that yakking, Jake.  You gotta a lotta people in line! "The drop of sweat was still hanging on.  I hurried back to the car with my purchase only to face another crisis. You can't just swallow an Alka-Seltzer tablet; you need a glass of water. We had water, and my Rebel ingenuity kicked in.   With my trusty Schrade Old Timer I cut a half liter plastic water bottle in half for a glass and filled it with water and the Alka-Seltzer. Another little bump on the traveler's road smoothed out!

We continue on highway 76 looking for Brasstown Road on the left. We turned on the narrow country road and passed a farm or two before the road abruptly changed at the "End State Maintenance" sign. It was a little rougher but still much better that some of those we traveled in northern New Mexico. We turned onto FS 751. This is a forest Service Road.  I've found that roads built and maintained by the U.S. Forest Service are generally quite good. We followed this unsurfaced road to the end. We could hear the rushing water as we got out of the car. "Hey, there's the trail head!" said Nathan, and he hurried in that direction. We, Claudette and I, followed at a slower rate of travel.We could see the creek through the trees and hear the fast moving water. Off to our left was a forty foot waterfall.  Unlike Chu Ram Falls the water doesn't cascade much. The path is about fifty feet from the creek and muddy.  It has been raining a lot in the mountains. Neither Claudette nor I have on our hiking shoes. In our hurry to see this waterfall we had left our hiking shoes in the car. She had on sandals, and I wore some Rockport slip-ons. We tried to avoid the mud by walking on the grass, weeds, and occasional sweetgum sapling near the path. Thoughts of

Brasstown Falls

poison oak entered my mind.  I once had such a bad encounter with the toxic plant that my eyes swelled almost shut.  The sky was dark, and the heavens were about to open with another deluge of rain. Hurriedly, we did catch up with our grandson.  He had stopped at the top of the fourth waterfall on Brasstown Creek. The creek is beautiful.  Though swollen by recent rains the water was not muddy. Today the creek reflected the overhanging hardwoods  and hemlocks, with flecks of white. There is a low rumbling sound as the water pounds the rocks and continues to reshape the stones as it has done for hundreds of years. I felt a raindrop and yelled, "We gotta get out of here!"  We returned to the Toyota as quickly as we could. By the time we had reached the hard surfaced road the rain was steadily coming down.

The rain shortened our waterfall hunting trip, but we had enjoyed ourselves. There are at least twenty-two waterfalls accessible in Oconee County and more in the surrounding counties. Perhaps, when we return to Long Creek for apples, we can enjoy more waterfalls in the colorful woods of autumn.  But, of course, it won't be quite the same without a grandson.

Sometimes You Just Nail It

"It's heavy!" I said.

"I'll bet it smells bad," she said with a slight crinkled nose.

"Not, really. It must weigh at  least ten pounds," I said, raising my arms and adjusting the slouch hat on my head.

"It probably didn't feel that heavy to the buffalo though," a slight grin spread across her face. "After all, when the buffalo had that coat, he was bigger and had four legs."

"Sometimes it's irritating when you're right!" I said.

We were at the famous Holzwarth Historic District of the Rocky Mountains National Park, Colorado.  This part of the 265,761 acre park has the restored Holzwarth Dude Ranch, which was built in 1917. There are guest cabins and other out buildings filled with artifacts of that era. I was trying to get the "feeling" of the mountain men who roamed this area in the mid 1800's. I had donned the buffalo hide coat and put a broad brimmed felt hat on to get the "feeling".  I could imagine drudging through snow all bundled up and breathing the thin mountain air. Later, while visiting a friend, I was able to fire a  replica Sharpe's buffalo gun of the type carried by these mountain men and buffalo hunters. The gun weighed almost ten pounds. They were strong independent people who blazed trails through the Rocky Mountains. They built their houses from whatever material was available, some of wood, some of stone, and some of dirt. The dirt houses were those of sod.  We saw the curious plow used to cut the sod strips from the earth, which would be cut into blocks to form the walls of a sod house.  There was a sod house there with grass growing on some of the walls. There were other curious primitive tools and machinery around.  Claudette was interested in the washing machine but had no desire to replace her modern one, although the old one was more energy efficient.

As we wandered around the old dude ranch, a small wooden cow caught my interest. Actually, it was about the size of a calf. "Hey, look at this!" I said to Claudette.

"What?"

"It's a wooden steer," I answered.

"So?"

I walked over to the wooden steer and took the coiled rope from around his horns. "I'll tell you

what I'm gonna do," I exclaimed, "I'm gonna show you how to lasso that steer!"

"Yeah, right!" she says with that "here we go again" tone in her voice.

"Did I ever tell about the time when I was about ten and I lassoed this little bull when I was a boy on the farm?"

"I've got a feeling I'm going to hear it now," she said in resignation. (She is not always thrilled with my stories.)

"We had just gotten this young Black Angus bull.  I guess he weighed 'bout eight hundred pounds, and I was gonna lasso him.  I'd seen Gene and Roy lasso many a steer, and I knew I could do it too.  I made me a lasso from a plow line  and tossed it around that bull's neck as he came around the barn. He started to run, and I held on. We made about three laps around that barn with that bull pulling me behind. I was holding on to that rope with both white-knuckled hands as he dragged me along.  I hit every cow pattie in the lot before I finally realized that I could turn loose.  And I did.  I was not injured, but Mama made me strip down to my underwear before I could enter the house for supper. My sister thought it was funny."

"Okay, go for it.  But we don't have all day!" my dear travel companion said.

"Piece a cake," I said.

Of course I had no idea I could lasso the wooden steer.  It would be a feat similar to parting the waters, but I picked up the rope and made a loop of about five feet across. As I swung the loop overhead in the thin mountain air a smile spread across my face. I took careful aim at my wooden adversary and released. The loop floated through the conifer scented air before gently settling around the horns of the steer with a soft "whack".  I felt like taking a bow. I had nailed it!

"I want to see that again!" she exclaimed.

"Not a chance!" said I.

We continued our drive in the Rocky Mountains National Park.  We took the Trail Ridge Road through the park.  It's forty-eight miles of the lush and rugged terrain of the Rockies. Along the road were small diameter poles of about ten feet in height, placed at intervals, with marks on them. We decided the these would mark the roadway in heavy snow conditions.  Waterfalls tumbled from the mists of the high mountains down through the meadows in their passage to the salt waters of our coasts.  This is where the elk roam.  The bighorn sheep are elusive, but we saw one of the magnificent creatures. As we reached the higher altitudes there were no trees. Eleven miles of US 34 are above the tree line.  When we stopped at an overlook we noted the very thin air, cool and sweet. The altimeter in the car read in excess of twelve thousand feet.  After all, we were on the highest continuously paved highway in North America. We saw no motor homes or travel trailers at this altitude.  We descended to where we saw a marker indicating the  Continental Divide at Milner Pass. From here the mountain snowmelt either goes into the Gulf of Mexico or the Pacific Ocean. We were now down to 10,120 feet.  This beautiful drive is open from Memorial Day to Columbus Day. It was a photo op.

The Rocky Mountain National Park exhibits all the splendor of the Rocky Mountains and is a testament to the great untamed outdoors.

.

Singing with a Soundtrack

"I didn't know it was on tonight," I said.

"Yes, and I think we can get tickets," my wife said.

"Really, I thought they only did the show on Saturday night," I said assertively.

"I think you're wrong this time, Sweetheart, " she answered, calling me "Sweetheart" to soften my loss in our ongoing conflict of ideas.

"Well, I'm sure the website is accurate, but we only heard it on the radio on Saturday night when I was a kid,"I said, "Everybody knows the Grand Ole Opry comes on the radio on Saturday night!"

"Well, guess what? We're going to see it on a Friday night!" she said adamantly.

Little Jimmy Dickens (Wikipedia photo)

We had only been in the Comfort Inn a half hour since our drive from Memphis. We had visited the birthplace of rock 'n' roll at Sun Studios, so why not visit the cathedral of country music in Nashville.  It had been but a whim to check the Opry website, but once again she had found tickets to an event I had always wanted to see.  Since I was a small boy and my grandmother would hold me in her arms and dance with me to Ernest Tubb singing on the radio, I have been a fan of country music, almost continuously.   There was that time in the sixties when I got sidetracked by that other kind of music, but tonight I would see the real thing.  

We left our lodging and headed for the Grand Ole Opry House. The building was slightly reminiscent of an antebellum  southern mansion. The show originated in 1925 but is best known to have been in the Ryman Auditorium, which housed the Opry from 1943 until 1974.  I would have loved to have seen it there. But, alas, it was not to be. The place is hallowed.  Actually, when they moved the Opry they brought a twelve foot in diameter piece of the old stage from the Ryman. Younger performers can stand on the place where Faron Young, Roy Acuff, Patsy Cline, Hank Williams, and other great artists performed. 

We were soon at the Grand Ole Opry House, situated in a shopping mall which was previously a theme park. Our seats were in the nosebleed section of the 4,400 seat theater. We bought hot dogs, Diet Coke, and potato chips, since we had not had our evening meal. The hot dogs were good, and dinner for ten bucks at a tourist attraction is something to write home about. The show started very promptly at 7:00 p.m.  The show is still broadcast on WSM AM radio as it has been from the beginning.  It is interesting to watch a performance that is broadcast. At times it seems that the show has stopped, until you realize that it is a commercial break much like what you see at a televised football game.  Another thing, which I thought was simply fantastic, was the changes made between acts. Any adjustments such as microphone height were made during commercials and were always spot on. When a new act came on stage there was no "Testing, 1, 2, 3"; the sound was just right.  We saw Porter Wagoner, whom I had seen on Saturday afternoon television more years ago than I care to admit. Porter had on a rhinestone covered suit just like in the old days. They're called Nudie suits, because they were made by tailor Nudie Cohn.  He actually gave Wagoner a rhinestone covered suit in 1962 with the hope that it would generate new business. Nudie soon had to move into a larger facility.

Porter acted as the host of the show. Some of the performers were the Mavericks, Janie Fricke, and everybody's favorite "Little" Jimmy Dickens.  I once had a "Little" Jimmy Dickens record, a big 78 rpm, I Always Get A Souvenir. The singing group, or rather family, The Whites performed.  They are purveyors of gospel and bluegrass music and were in one of our favorite movies, Oh Brother, Where Art Thou!. They sang Keep On The Sunny Side, and we sang right along with them.

Porter in a Nudie suit, Little Jimmy Dickens, and singing with the Whites; it was great! 

" Ya know that was a great show.  It was kinda like a flashback in time, " I said as we left the theatre.

"Country music is not like that anymore," commented Claudette.

"You're right. I think it started changing when they brought drums to the stage. 'Til then the double bass had taken care of percussion," I said.

"Taylor Swift and Brad Paisley are pretty good," said she with a sigh.

"I know, but is it country?" I posed the rhetorical question aloud.

And I pondered that thought all the way back to the Comfort Inn.