WHERE’S POGO?

I guess he’s right where Walt Kelley left him all those decades ago.  If I thought I was dating myself with those Maverick references, this will surely enshrine me in geezerdom.  We never saw a possum, but Albert is alive and well!

We left Hattiesburg and traveled south through Biloxi and then over to the Florida panhandle.  Nothing to see here, folks, move along.  The panhandle roads, be they the interstate or back roads, mostly have one, monotonous view:  trees.

This is not to say that things aren’t green, clean, and beautiful, they are.  It’s just that you can only take so many trees.  Give me one of those high desert vistas.  We made it to the Stephen C. Foster State Park, a Georgia park located in the middle of the Okefenokee.  This place is isolated!  There were only six other rigs staying there the first night;  by the third night, we had the place to ourselves; no other campers.  Our site backed into the swamp, and had a nifty view out our back window (that’s the scoot mirror on the right edge).

  The first things we noticed as we set up camp were the bugs.  Absolutely prehistoric.  Giant, Alien creatures that sounded like gas-engined model airplanes.  Eeeerrrrooooowwww; shroooom; rarararararararraraah.

When they hit the windows, they’d BANG and PLOMP.  It was like being under attack.  Actually, the big ones weren’t the problem.  It was the biting flies, pretty good sized themselves, and sort of brownish instead of black.  Smack one of those babies and bright, red blood splashed all over.  We decided to wear long pants and sleeves to keep as covered as possible.

First order of business was the nature trail, a raised boardwalk thing through the swamp.  Easy stroll, eh?

Actually, this was a fairly dry area of the swamp, and we didn’t see any gators on our walk.  We did hear a big bull rumbling in the distance.  This is the end of the Spring mating season.  Oh joy.  Anyway, it was a pleasant walk through the trees

and the water vegetation.  That’s a special bush on the left that grows out of cypress stumps.

There was Spanish moss (which hangs from limbs) and bearded moss (which clings to trunks) everywhere

This really is a beautiful park, and a must-see if you’re anywhere in the area.  This is the walk back from the ranger station to our campground.

The next day we set out in search of Albert.  We had thought of first taking a tour boat, but one of the other campers said it wasn’t worth it, and to just rent a boat.  So that’s what we did.  After spending a quarter hour trying to keep the first one they gave us running, we switched to a Honda-powered skiff and were off to terrorize the denizens.

Into the dark . . .

It wasn’t long before we started spotting gators right and left.  We counted well over forty before we gave up.  Most were submerged, only showing a bit:

Some were lying in wait:

Others were out on the banks, getting some sun, and showing off their full size:

Yikes!  The average size in the swamp is 5 to 9 feet, with the bigger males going well into the teens.  We estimated this guy above to be about 12 feet.  This guy was a bit smaller:

It wasn’t in the camping literature we had reviewed beforehand, but they actually had a form of cable TV at each site.  They have an antenna on a tall tower that picks up the Jacksonville signals, then they route it (analog only) via cable to the sites.  The pictures were so-so, and disappeared from time to time, but hey, in the Okefenokee?  So we got to watch the season finales of NCIS and The Good Wife.  Cool, seeing as how we weren’t going to take any nighttime strolls with the aerial and amphibious critters.

The next day we decided to break out the Sea Eagle inflatable kayak that we’ve been lugging around the entire trip.  It weighs about 50 lbs in the bag, so we unhooked and drove the rig up to the launch area.  We hadn’t used it but once before, and that was a year ago at Morro Bay, so of course we had forgotten how to set it up.  Mild cursing, a lot of sweating, and we finally got it over to the ramp and into the murk.  The swamp water is actually quite clean, but because of the decaying plant matter it is dark tea colored.  Looks much worse than it is.  We felt rather intrepid setting out in gator paradise with only canvas between them and our bottoms.  We didn’t mind them on the banks or at the edges, but when they decided to cross our path out in the middle of the river, we had a few yikes moments.  The ranger had assured us they were more afraid of us than vice-versa, unless of course you harass them.  Hmmmm.  Just what constitutes harassment to a gator?  Anyway, off we went.  We made no wake.

One of the nice things about kayaking is that you can sneak up on things that otherwise would have long flown the coop.

We think these are white ibis, rather than herons, although we saw both.  Even more impressive were the much larger wood storks.  Unfortunately, I never could get the camera on one.  But it is really neat to be floating through this dark swamp and have these huge birds rise up and fly in front of and above you.

Did I say we hadn’t done this in a year?  And that it was HOT?  After about two and a half hours, we were exhausted and streaming with sweat.  This was a most welcome sign.

The Okefenokee has been the high point of the trip thus far.  It’s just so otherworldly.  Despite the heat, very cool indeed.

WOODEN BEARS AND THE PURPLE PARROT

From Jackson, we ventured into the deep South to Hattiesburg, home of the Mississippi Armed Forces Museum at Camp Shelby.  We got reservations at Paul B. Johnson State Park, which had an interesting below-water-level approach.  This was more fun on the scoot.

It’s on a beautiful lake with inlets full of water lilies.

With carved bears standing sentry throughout the park.

The heat wave hadn’t let up, so we did our morning walks as early as possible.

Walks and ablutions over, we offloaded the scoot and set out for Camp Shelby, which was a huge training center during WWII, and now is mostly devoted to national guard training.  But it looked like a ghost town to us.  Not a soul stirring anywhere.  And precious little signage to guide us to the museum.  When they DID have signage close to the museum, it misdirected us to the back.  I hope they give better training to the guard than they do directions to the public.

Although this was supposed to be a national museum, it still was pretty Mississippi-centric, with a lot of coverage of units and individuals from the state.  We had the place to ourselves so we could linger over anything of interest,

and there was quite a bit.  We had to take this in honor of Mom, who was a Wave back in WWII.

The thing that fascinated Loni the most was the display about how they launched and recovered seaplanes from early battleships.  If the ocean was too rough for a landing, the ship would steam in a tight circle, creating a “pond” of calm water within the circle.  The plane would land, get hoisted up, mission accomplished.  I’d never heard of this before and am somewhat skeptical about how calm a spot you could create that way.  I was most intrigued by the exhibit concerning German POW’s.  Camp Shelby was one of the main detention centers.  Frankly, those guys lived better in detention than our troops did overseas.  They even had a soccer league.  We spent several hours enjoying the exhibits and the fine air conditioning.  Then it was back outside for the ten mile trip back to the park.  We didn’t linger too much on the outside displays of tanks and helos.  Hot hot hot!

Loni didn’t feel like cooking when we got back, so . . . enter the Purple Parrot.  We had picked up a Mississippi tourist guide at the border, and one of the articles was on cuisine.  They mentioned a chef in Hattiesburg who was doing pretty upscale stuff with traditional Southern dishes.  We phoned for a reservation at his place, the Purple Parrot, duded ourselves up (I’m sure there were some puzzled looks from the local campers) and motored out on the scoot for the 15 mile trip back to town.  For once, the guidebook puffery had substance.  This was a very nice place, equal to anything in LA for decor, most patrons dressed up (ignore the buffoon in the T-shirt across the way), and the food was great.  Found an excellent Spanish white (and at a reasonable price) on the twenty page wine list, which went well with our fish dinners and my appetizer of fried green tomatoes with lump crabmeat topping.  Yes, it was delicious.  We drank it all, ate everything put before us, including totally unnecessary desserts, and left very happy campers indeed, even though the pricing was LA quality as well.  We even managed to keep the scoot upright all the way home.

ACTION, JACKSON

Hard rain last night with threat of hail, so we took the runner carpet from the rig and I climbed on the roof to lay it over our solar panel for protection.  It has a rubber bottom, so I faced that up to avoid soaking the carpet.  Hah.  Plenty of splash bounce from the roof managed to get most of it soaked.

Jackson is MS’s capital, so we first visited the Old Capitol Building, which now is a historical museum, the “new” capitol having replaced it in 1903.  This building dates from the early 1800’s, and its restoration was an enormous task, but carried out beautifully, from the gorgeous dome

to the legislative chambers, complete with mannequins and recordings of famous debates taken from the legislative records.  It was a nifty presentation.

From there we walked a few blocks through an absolutely dead downtown to the governor’s mansion, which is a hybrid.  The 19th century portion is immaculately restored and furnished with period pieces and is used for public functions.  Attached to the back is a modern townhouse which is where the gov and family live.  Seeing as how this was a slow, hot day in the middle of the week, we were the only visitors and got a private tour which was really interesting.  Docents really warm to the subject when you show more than a modicum of interest, and she did a great job, with stories about the rooms, former governors, etc.  I particularly liked the one about the gov that walked off with the mansion’s furniture, and didn’t return it until he got re-elected years later.  And then he sold it back!  Unfortunately, no pictures allowed, but she did snap us on the front steps.

Our AAA guide listed a couple of “Gem” (must-see’s) sites in Jackson, one being “The National Agricultural Aviation Museum,” and the other the Mississippi Sports Hall of Fame.  Fortunately, they’re located adjacent, as we were getting very hot and sweaty motoring around on the scoot with helmets.  Did I say they were having record heat/humidity just in our honor?  To be polite, I think AAA was stretching things a little with the Gem designations.  We enjoyed both, but we certainly wouldn’t advise making a special trip to see them. What they DID have was a ridiculously cheap and delicious cafe, which clearly was attracting locals rather than museum visitors.  Grilled Tilapia, corn bread, and sides.

 

The Ag museum was more Ag than aviation, but had some interesting displays.

 

I’m not quite sure what this had to do with either, but this incredibly detailed model train setup covered a lot of square feet:

The aviation portion consisted of a few crop dusters, a pilot mannequin that had fallen backwards eons ago and never righted, and not much else. 

Outside, there was the usual collection of old-time small-town buildings, including a pharmacy, which had a display of old vials, one of which tickled Loni’s blood-banker funnybone.  What the hell is . . .

The sports hall of fame was of interest principally to Mississippians, as it only featured displays relating to the state’s athletes and coaches, all the way down to the high school level.  Well, almost only.  Somehow, there is an entire floor upstairs devoted to Dizzy Dean, who wasn’t born here, never played here, and didn’t announce here.  What he DID do was marry a Mississippi woman, and die here.  So they got his memorabilia.  For me, the best thing was the collection of Olympic Games posters:

Today truly covered the sublime to the ridiculous.  It’s all good.

WITHOUT A TRACE

. . . old time commerce would have been a lot more difficult.  Today, it’s a National Scenic Byway and an All-American Road covering the 444 miles between Natchez and just below Nashville, TN.  But it’s origins go back to a series of hunters’ paths of the Choctaw, Natchez, and Chickasaw Indians. 

By 1733, had been mapped by the French.  In the late 1700’s, Ohio farmers who had floated their goods down the rivers to New Orleans returned on foot via the Trace.  By the early 1800’s, it became a wilderness road, punctuated by inns and brigands.

  The modern trace is two lanes rolling through forests with no commercial development.  It’s quite beautiful,

although it starts to get a bit soporific after a while.  I mean, how many trees can you take anyway?

It does, however, have historical and quirky stops along its way.  Quirky:

And historical:

It’s nothing more than a large hill, but when you think the Indians constructed it by hand, without tools or draft animals, it becomes a lot more impressive.

If it looks like we’re plodding, we were!  It wasn’t the climb, which was easy, it was the heat and humidity.  Mississippi was undergoing a heat wave with the heat index well over 100.  El sweato.  The view from the top was underwhelming, but at least we weren’t being sacrificed to the spirits.

We bailed the Trace at Jackson and followed Dora’s instructions to what we thought was our RV park for the night.  Turned out it was another one we’d not heard of.  The one we were heading for closed years ago, and this one just happened to be there.  Serendipity.  It was a little slice of Mayberry, with resident kids riding scooters and playing in the lane. 

The owner was a Blanche Dubois doppelganger, with an accent that dripped honey and magnolias.  Welcome to the Sahyouth, y’all.

MAVERICK AND THE FINGER

Riverboat ring your bell,

Faretheewell Annabelle,

Luck is the lady that he loves the best.

Natchez to New Orleans,

Living on Jacks and Queens

Maverick is a legend of the West.

And that’s from memory, not the internet!  The adolescents of the ‘50’s will need no interpretation.  For you others, that’s part of the theme song of James Garner’s first starring role on TV as the riverboat gambler, Bret Maverick.  I think it’s still his iconic image, more so than the Rockford Files.  Ok, dating myself.

Yesterday we scooted across the Big Muddy from our (excellent) camp on the Louisiana side

(the view from behind our site)

to the city of Natchez, which boasts a host of preserved/restored antebellum mansions.  These are the core of the city’s tourist appeal, as there’s nothing much else there.  The local industries have been dying off, the town population is shrinking, but the mansions soldier on.  We opted for the low-cost tour which consisted of riding the scoot up and down the streets to see the mansions from the outside ($10 a head to take an inside tour)

and then to visit the National Historical Park.  That’s made up of two sites:  The William Johnson House, and the “Cotton Kingdom Estate,” Melrose.  Freebies, both.

Johnson was born a slave in 1809, freed at age eleven, and became a successful businessman, slaveholder (!), and diarist during the heyday of the cotton kingdom.  Although “free,” he nonetheless trod carefully, walking a fine and dangerous line between the full rights of a white citizen and the bondage of slavery.  Freed men could be returned to slavery at almost any time.  By the 1840’s, he had acquired substantial land holdings and established himself as a farmer as well as an urban businessman.  He owned five barber shops as well as other enterprises.  He wrote extensive diaries of daily events beginning in 1835 and ending with his murder (over a boundary dispute) in 1851.  His home in Natchez remained in his family until bought by the government for the Historical Park.

For a black man in that time period, he was living large.  The house retains a lot of the original furniture that he and his family used 160 years ago.  This is the parlor (behind glass partition, hence the reflections):

His diaries are fascinating accounts of everyday life.  It would appear there was a lot of casual violence going on, as he describes fights, stabbings, shootings, etc.  He often illustrated his entries with drawings of the participants.  This was well worth the stop.

The other half of the National Park is about a mile away, on the edge of town, the mansion and grounds called “Melrose.”  There’s Spanish Moss hanging from

 

these trees, although it’s hard to see in the pic.  The long drive winds through the foregrounds to the mansion.  No pics of the exterior as it was undergoing extensive renovation and there was scaffolding and junk all over it.  They found that the coffered rain gutters were leaking into the interior and found widespread wood damage.  Whole beams and other wood have to be replaced.  The interior, however, is incredibly preserved.  The house was built by John McMurren between 1841 and 1849.  He moved to Natchez from Pennsylvania in the mid 1820’s, established a law practice, married the daughter of a Mississippi Supreme Court judge (attaboy!), and prospered.  There’s a portrait of Mary Louisa (Mrs. McMurren) at age 15, three years before their marriage, hanging in the parlor:

How cool is that?  Like she’s keeping watch over her house, or still welcoming guests through the ages.  They set out to, and succeeded in, furnishing the home with “all that fine taste and a full purse” could provide.  Here’s their parlor, which sports gold leaf everywhere, even the wallpaper.

The blinds are reproductions of the 1840’s originals. They were unique at the time, and the governor had them copied for the Statehouse Mansion. The house was sold after the Civil War to the Davis family, and it remained in their hands until 1976 (!), retaining virtually all of the original McMurran furnishings.  The whole house is filled with the furniture, paintings, knickknacks, and china.  There is a Spode china set that has over 1,000 pieces, part of which is set on the dining room table:

That big wood thing hanging over the table is a fan, servant-operated by the pull rope you see trailing to the left behind it.  The master bedroom was huge:

 

The day bed at the foot of the main bed was for lounging during the day and for giving birth.  The first Davis owner kept samples of the carpets, wallpaper, and drapes rolled up in the basement.  Everything of those that you see in the house are reproductions of the originals, so everything really is as it looked a century and a half ago.  Very cool.

But, wait, you say?  What about the finger?  Ah, yes, the finger.  This is the Bible Belt, brother, and it’s one magnificent old edifice after another.  They truly are beautiful.  It’s hard for one to really stand out in your mind, except for . . .