Once again I have Austin in the rear-view mirror. It has been classic Austin, wildflowers beginning to bloom – Bluebonnets, Indian Paintbrush, Primrose for starters – and yellow air. Yes – you read right. It took me bit to figure it out until I realized everything was sporting a layer of fine yellow dust – aka Oak Pollen. Until the rain moved in, the air was dusty looking and allergists are no doubt dancing in the streets. It’s that time of year again; between Cedar Fever and Oak season, allergists, and producers of Kleenex, Puffs and antihistamines are raking it in.
Before leaving I took a detour through Fiesta Mart to pick up Abuelita Mexican Chocolate (fabulous for hot chocolate) and dried Jimaica (hibcus blosssoms) for that glorious red hibiscus tea. Returning to the car I was dealt a smacking-blow to the left side of my head by something back and soft. It felt like someone had dealt me a hard blow from a small pillow, which turned out to be a huge Grackle whose GPS has apparently malfunctioned on his glide-path to the nearest perch – a vacant shopping cart. Since Hitchcock was no where in sight, I am left wondering if this was an omen… Some people get a symbolic 2X4, in which case I am thankful for a soft Grackle. In any case, it was time to leave Austin.
It was misting when I left, making the road slick. My mother had an expression for that: slick-as-goose-s**t.” Apparently, growing up on a farm, she knew a lot about that topic and who am I to argue. In any case, that was the condition of roads when I left and mist soon turned to a sprinkle, which turned to a light pelting and then to that kind of rain one only sees in Houston and Louisiana. And coming from Oregon, that’s saying something. So for 10 hours I drove through a veritable sampler of different kinds of rain until I reached Gulfport.
It was a perfect time of year to do the drive, despite the rain, because Texas road sides are blanketed with wildflowers, thanks to a contest started by Ladybird Johnson decades ago. Districts compete to see who can create the most eye-popping display of wildflowers and the results are just spectacular!
Driving into Louisiana was a stunning reminder of memories from childhood: lousy roads – STILL. I had hoped that that particular reputation had changed, but apparently not. Following Interstate-10 took me across the Atchafalaya Causeway through that long stretch flood-basin with ghostly Cypress trees rising out of the black water characteristic of Cypress-swamps. Just plain spooky – and breathtaking – and a death trap… I passed a six-car collision. The part of I-10 crossing this swamp is a pair of parallel two-lane bridges 18+ miles long making it the second longest bridge in the US and the fourteenth longest bridge in the world. Because the lanes going each direction are separated by swamp, emergency vehicles had to come miles from the other directions, circle back to get on the portion of the bridge where the wreck happened, with bumper to bumper traffic and little way to get through.
But the swamps are beautiful and produced an old familiar feeling that’s hard to describe – a combination of haunting, nostalgia and history. Louisiana hasn’t felt like home for many years, but the melancholy familiarity of it stirred my heart and the spookiness of sparked my fear of dark water. No way I would cross that stretch at night – I’m sure the Roux-ga-roux (left) of childhood taunts lives there. So many of my childhood memories are involved with stories of the swamps or memories of pole-fishing from a flat-bottom boat in the bayous – catching catfish and perch so fast my dad hardly got his hook in the water, busy as he was handling our catches. Even as little girls we could bait the hooks with earthworms, but our hands were too small to take a fish off. We’d come home sunburned, smelling like fish, exhausted and happy.
Today took me through Mississippi and Alabama and a different set of memories. Road signs for Pass Christiane, Pearl River and Bayou La Batre (right) called up memories of the sailboat trip my ex and I took the year I turned thirty. We noodled our way east from Galveston, through the Inter-coastal Canal, sometimes off shore and sometime snaking through swamps – anchoring in muddy water with five feet of silt – so deep it was tricky getting an anchor to bite. Once it took five attempts to anchor, pulling up a foot of sticky slop on the anchor before it would hold, only to be told to move by a concerned shrimper. Seems we’d anchored in the informal shrimpers’ channel and had we stayed, our boat would have been toothpicks my morning. I couldn’t leave the area until I left the highway to scope out Bayou La Batre, which my Garmin announced as Bayoo La Battre.
I found the drawbridge and the bayou where I’m sure I amused the drawbridge keeper when I parked my car to take these shots. Travis suggested I was lucky not t be arrested as a terrorist for taking pictures at/near/from a bridge. Hadn’t thought of that. Stopping at a café near the bridge, I found a group of older men telling fish tales as I chowed down on a huge breakfast for the unheard of price of $4.16! Home made biscuits, grits cooked by people who know show to do it, eggs and four slices of bacon. Oh yeah – and that included orange juice!
Arriving at Travis’, I finally corrected the error I made in Austin: missing my Chile Relleno and Chicken Enchilada with Tomatillo Sauce aka Chuy’s Combo #5. Having rinsed down our grub with a Texas Martini (pitcher of Margaritas served with a Martini glass) and polished it off with a shared Tres Leche dessert, we waddled home and caught up on the past one and a half years. Today Travis showed me the two favorite places he dives… Little River and Ginnie Springs. Gainesville is an epicenter for cave diving and while I don’t know if I will ever brave an underwater cave, I certainly got the allure of it after seeing the cave entrances. They are gorgeous, cool (72 degrees) spring fed waters, with a clarity I’ve not seen outside a bathtub!
The upward flow-pressure (termed the boil) of the Spring is usually enough to keep the tannins that leach out of the Cypress knees and turn the water the color of strong black tea, confined to the river. Somehow appropriately the two most popular caves at Ginnie Springs are called: Devil’s Ear and Devil’s Eye.
On Wednesday, I sadly said goodby to Travis and navigated my way to the northwestern corner of Arkansas amid the worst 18-wheeler traffic and wind I’ve met since traveling the eastern corridor around New Jersey. I love Hissy Fit, but she was tormented mightily by strong cross winds made even worse by the the turbulence created by the big-rigs, outnumbering automobiles 12/1. It was not a happy drive, but the serene route into the Ozarks with roadsides peppered by Redbud and blooming Dogwood almost made up for it.
Eureka Springs’ historic downtown is a mini-San Francisco with old Victorian houses perched on hilly streets. It’s known for it’s healing waters and ghost stories. Even the little Swiss Village motel I stayed in had its own assortment of things-that-go-bump-in-the-night and did they bump!
The weather was beautiful until the moment I left under those egg-carton skies known to produce hail. Racing to get out from under those before the heat unleashed their bounty, I was relieved when I stopped for gas two hours later only to be told they were under a tornado watch. Wind and more big-rigs completed the picture all the way back into Texas where skies cleared and traffic thinned. It was a fine Texas welcome!
What brought me to that quaint little town of Eureka Springs, was the Ozark UFO Conference, now in its 28th year. In part I came to explore more fully the experiences I have had over my lifetime – and those my children have had in early childhood.
To the left is one of the paintings that emerged from that period when we were all having experiences and none of us were telling the others. The kids didn’t know it was unusual. In Uganda, an enormous silver saucer type hovered over my house and I continue to have related experiences, thus far positive in nature. This conference offered the opportunity to speak with credible researchers and others with similar background.
I’m whizzing through Austin once more to attempt to pick up a pair of lenses for new glasses. The lab has managed to confound the process, messing up the lenses multiple times and once again, I am leaving without them – I think. I’m not gone yet. And to continue the Grackle story, sipping coffee at Mozart’s on the lake a few days ago, I was again in the Grackle flight-path and involved in a near-miss as yet another Grackle flew by inches from my ear, screeching his raucous message as he flew by. Since I don’t speak Grackle, I have consulted the internet and various interpretations were offered: “things are not as they seem,” “quit talking… and DO,” any of which could have relevance. i.e Shut up and write the next book!
Getting new tires this morning to continue this epic road trip taking the southern route this time, stopping along the way to see friends in Phoenix, California and southern Oregon. On the off chance that “get new tires” was included in the Grackle’s message, I would like to say, you have been heard on all levels and it will no longer be necessary to throw yourselves at me. A simple wink will do.
Missing the beach! The journey continues…