Month: March 2019

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What I Want for Christmas

We’re driving to Ocean Springs, not flying. It’s a ‘fer piece, according to Apple Maps more than 400 miles, mostly east but a bit north (Yankees!), six hours and 19 minutes skirting roughly half of the north shore of the Gulf of Mexico. In our driving time six hours means seven. And 19 minutes.

We leave Friday and will be back Monday. It’s not a blue highway sort of drive, it’s I-10, the interstate that runs from Santa Monica, California, to Jacksonville, Florida, and it’s a drive I know well: from El Paso to Houston but also east. There’s Rao’s Bakery in Beaumont and the donut shop in Lake Charles where the boudin kolache was created. There’s boudin and crawfish pie at the Sausage Link in Sullivan and the 18-mile bridge over the Atchafalaya Basin. If we went earlier, Thursday evening, we could spend the night in Lafayette and go dancing. Last time I checked they still sell Haspel Suits in Baton Rouge. Once we get to Slidell above New Orleans on the northeast shore of Lake Pontchartrain I’m not so familiar with things, and every time I’ve gone as far as Mobile on I-10 I’ve turned north toward Atlanta, but we stop short of Mobile. Mobile will have to wait for a different trip.

We originally planned to fly to New Orleans, rent a car, and drive to Ocean Springs, and I had made all the reservations. A direct flight from Houston to New Orleans is only about an hour, and I’ve always got Southwest flight points: instead of enhanced Medicaid every Texan gets 10- or 20-thousand Southwest points every couple of months. With airport and driving time from New Orleans to Ocean Springs we could make the trip in about five hours. Five hours and 19 minutes. But truth is I love a good road trip, and with flying you lose the imagination of the countryside: that road would be good to bike down, that bayou would be good to canoe, would that farmer let me fish that pond? Could we live here? It’s better than buying a lottery ticket.

Plus there’s seven hours in which we can play the Mississippi playlist and finish listening to Faulkner’s The Hamlet (which I think hilarious and Kris thinks grim) and eat Cheetos and boudin and search for donuts. And how can Kris think The Hamlet grim, at least parts of it anyway? What reasonably empathetic heterosexual (or maybe not even heterosexual) male can’t see the goofier side of his infatuation in Labove and Eula Varner? I’m just lucky Kris didn’t whack me across the head.

So at TroutFest there was one of these from Four Wheel Pop-up Campers:

https://fourwh.com/product/hawk-short-bed-popup-truck-camper-regular-size/

And there was one of these from Into the Wild Overland:

https://itwoverland.com/#

And they were either one about $30,000 as outfitted–they had every possible accessory. My children have been to college and beyond, and I can imagine retirement. I was taken with the notion of driving one of those things to a donut shop in the Rockies. Out of Denver the Into the Wild campers are available for rent for $150 per night. It doesn’t seem to have a toilet, and that might be a deal-killer.

When you start looking around you can find all sorts of folk who have caught fish on a fly, or at least a fish, in all 50 states. There’s a guy and his son who did all 50 states in 50 days, which makes my stomach queasy. There’s a lovely husband and wife who did all 50 states in a year. There’s a guide in southwest Colorado who tallied up his prior experience and realized he only lacked six or so states and went out and got them. But dang, I could spend a year reading books from Mississippi, much less fishing the farm ponds and eating the tamales and listening to the blues. I’m not in any hurry, and spending less than a month in Montana seems like a crime. So this whole RV thing is really appealing.

https://mercedessprinterrvrentals.com/mercedes-sprinter-rental-fleet/

I’d thought next year of a grand Southwestern tailwater tour: the San Juan, Lee’s Ferry, and the Green. I can rent a Mercedes Sprinter Van for 10 days from Mercedes Sprinter RV Rental for about $6000, which is expensive but I wouldn’t at the end of the day have to own the thing, and it’s about the price for one of us staying in a very good lodge for a week in Alaska, not including drinks. I could pick it up in Albuquerque and not have to skip Taos or Chama or Chaco Canyon, and we could drop it off in Salt Lake City. We could also drive on that tailwater road trip and stay in motels. For cheaper. Or dig one of the tents out of the attic.

I don’t know. I didn’t much like staying in the Airbnb in Hawaii, nothing wrong with it but nothing right with it either, and I kept thinking that I’d rather be staying inThe Royal Hawaiian. Or a camper. A road trip camper. With a standard poodle named Charlie on a Blue Highway, self-contained, meandering. Of course once I got there I’d still rather be staying in The Royal Hawaiian.

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The Waw

General Jubilation T. Cornpone, from Li’l Abner, Paramount Studios, 1959.

Before we went to Vicksburg I listened to Jeff Shaara’s novelization of the Siege of Vicksburg, Chain of Thunder, because Vicksburg is a good place to think about the effect of the Civil War on the white South. The citizens of Vicksburg were besieged, starved, bombed. They lived in caves. They ate rats. From May 18 through July 4, 1863, the War was in their home, and if the War began for the defense of slavery it ended with the failure of that defense and other things besides: a deep and culturally inbred resentment of the invader, and conviction as to the superior virtues of the defeated. The misery of invasion still resonated in 1971 when Joan Baez’s cover of The Night They Drove Old Dixie Down was at the top of the charts. The Band’s version is pretty good too.

And notwithstanding the modern world the resentment and conviction probably aren’t done yet either.

From The General, 1926, MGM. The General is the funniest movie ever made and is in the public domain because somebody didn’t bother renewing the copyright. Go figure.

From Twain’s Life on the Mississippi:

IN the North one hears the war mentioned, in social conversation, once a month; sometimes as often as once a week; but as a distinct subject for talk, it has long ago been relieved of duty. There are sufficient reasons for this. Given a dinner company of six gentlemen to-day, it can easily happen that four of them—and possibly five—were not in the field at all. So the chances are four to two, or five to one, that the war will at no time during the evening become the topic of conversation; and the chances are still greater that if it become the topic it will remain so but a little while. If you add six ladies to the company, you have added six people who saw so little of the dread realities of the war that they ran out of talk concerning them years ago, and now would soon weary of the war topic if you brought it up.

The case is very different in the South. There, every man you meet was in the war; and every lady you meet saw the war. The war is the great chief topic of conversation. The interest in it is vivid and constant; the interest in other topics is fleeting. Mention of the war will wake up a dull company and set their tongues going, when nearly any other topic would fail. In the South, the war is what A.D. is elsewhere: they date from it. All day long you hear things ‘placed’ as having happened since the waw; or du’in’ the waw; or befo’ the waw; or right aftah the waw; or ’bout two yeahs or five yeahs or ten yeahs befo’ the waw or aftah the waw. It shows how intimately every individual was visited, in his own person, by that tremendous episode.

Mark Twain, Life on the Mississippi, ch. 26, 1883, James R. Osgood & Co., Boston, Ma.

There’s a strange statue in AsiaTown in West Houston, a larger-than-life bronze of a South Vietnamese infantryman in full battle gear walking side by side with a bronze American G.I., also in full battle gear. It’s the Memorial to the Army of the Republic of Vietnam. The statue is in a district where not long ago a Vietnamese city council member was defeated at least in part because he had accompanied a former mayor on a trade mission to Vietnam. He visited the Yankees. Sometimes it’s just hard to get over it. Ask the Scots or the Irish or any given Cuban in Miami. Go visit Napoleon’s Tomb. Visit Quebec. Not everyone’s a good loser.

Now mind, there is no defense of the Lost Cause, there’s no getting over the moral indefensibility of many of my ancestors going to war to defend slavery: to paraphrase Grant, pretty brave guys but man did their cause suck, and for black Americans it really sucked.

University of Alabama Students burn desegregation literature, 1956, Library of Congress.

Beginning in the 1950s and 60s, with desegregation and voting and civil rights, our insights into the causes and effects of the War changed, or should have changed, not just in the South but the North as well. Maybe they did for some, but its symbols also became the symbols for a new conflict, or at least a refocused conflict carried over from the old. Notwithstanding that it was during the centennial of the War, I’m not buying that in 1962 Dixiecrats in South Carolina for the first time raised the battle flag at the state capitol because they got hyped up about history. I do suspect that a television show starring a Dodge Charger named the General Lee with a battle flag on its roof was dreamed up in Hollywood as a live-action cartoon, was innocent if naive, and that if anyone should be offended it should be white Southerners, but there you are: there are no longer any frivolous uses of that flag, and there are certainly no innocent uses. I may miss General Jubilation T. Cornpone in the Sunday funnies, but you can’t go home again.

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Meantime we’re packing for Mississippi, and Saturday we drove to New Braunfels where I caught a nice rainbow on a red and black zebra midge under a flashback pheasant tail under a tan worm under some weight under a bobber, and I caught it right at the top of a run, right where it was supposed to be. Plus notwithstanding all that hardware I only got tangled twice. On the way out of town we ate at Krause’s, which has reopened and constructed a great beer hall next to the old restaurant. At our shared table we met a couple from New Braunfels with a place for rent in Arroyo City, on the Laguna Madre. Kris loves fishing the Laguna Madre. Unlike Florida I can catch fish on the Laguna Madre. She was ready to move to Arroyo City.