BACK TO BEDROCK: Vacation time brings back mixed memories

Are we there yet? When I was little, we didn’t travel much. My dad was a farmer and farmers don’t get vacations very often. Besides, he just liked to be home.

I won’t say my mom waited on my dad hand and foot because she didn’t, but she cooked three meals a day, did all the laundry and housework and also held a full-time job for a lot of that time.

We didn’t eat out a lot either, like never. OK, there’s that little old building in Gentry between the police station and the watch shop? At one point that was a little café, and that is the only place I can remember Daddy taking us to eat when I was very small. And if he had to pay over a dollar for a hamburger, he griped for a week!

When I was in seventh grade, my class went on a field trip and stopped at a Pizza Hut. Oh my goodness! Where had this been all my life? I thought it was a newly invented food! Welcome to the big, wide world, little farm girl!

Back then, Dad was a member of the National Farmer’s Organization, and we went to a couple of conventions. That was my vacation experience. First one was to Bald Knob. I’ll bet not many of you have been on a “vacation” there! I don’t remember much about it except that we had to cross Lake Norfork by ferry, and I was a little apprehensive but we made it across OK. Another trip for the NFO was to the big city of Louisville, Ky. I think it must have been kind of like the Beverly Hillbillies’ first trip to Burbank. We were hicks from the sticks and everyone could tell that just by looking at us.

One man stopped us on the street in downtown Louisville, and said, “You’re from out of town, aren’t you?” That was an understatement; we were from way out of town! We admitted we were and he proceeded to tell us to stay away from parked cars, alleys and put our purses over our shoulders with the opening facing inward - scared us half to death - but Louisville did, maybe still does, have a very high crime rate. We listened well and survived the experience.

But everywhere Daddy went, he always managed to find the smallest, old timiest restaurants for us to eat in! We never ate in a national chain the whole time we were in Louisville. Daddy had located a small mom-and-pop operation, tucked tightly between two tall buildings.

I’m not complaining; the food was just like mom made at home. But, there were some differences, mainly in the form of the mentally challenged, homeless man wearing a floor length overcoat who walked in and cussed out everyone in the restaurant one night. He called us names I had never heard in my life and didn’t hear again until I was an adult, and some I haven’t heard since - scared me half to death! My dad could cuss like a sailor and did often, but there were some words that I never heard him say. This poor, unfortunate gentleman said every one of them! The owner hustled out of the kitchen, ushered him out the door and then apologized to all of the customers. I guess he was harmless, just verbally abusive. Well, we survived and I returned from the trip with only a little innocence lost.

Now when my kids were small, we took a couple of trips to Arizona to visit relatives. The first one was when my oldest two were three and five years of age.

We had a van with a wooden bench seat, covered with carpet in the back and the floor. The walls were also carpeted with orange shag. Yes, it was 1980. I remember loading the sleeping kids onto a pallet on the floor of the van early one morning and taking off for Arizona. This was the longest trip I had ever been on in my life and, 12 hours later when we stopped for the night, my whole body was vibrating.

Then the next day, we decided to take a “shortcut” through the mountains and got into a minor sandstorm. I was watching the sand blow by and it was starting to gradually turn white. We drove out of the sandstorm and into a blizzard. I have learned to avoid “shortcuts.”

Finally we got through the mountains and then, all of a sudden, the Salt River Canyon was spread out before us in all its glory, taking our breath away. No, literally, it took my breath away. I have a fear of heights, and I hyperventilated at the top of that monster canyon. It didn’t help much that my husband was saying, “Wow, look down there,” and taking his eyes off of the very curvy, unguardrailed road for hours at a time. And semi-trucks were barreling down the road, trying to build up steam to get up the other side, and they were passing us. I was horrified! Then way below, I saw a car - a very old, rusty car - and I was convinced that it still held the bodies of the unfortunate souls who had missed the turn and gone over the side. After all, it was just too steep and there was no way you could be rescued if that happened. Well, we made it down, but then we had to go back up the other side, which was just as bad, maybe worse, because at one point the van faltered and we had to pull over. I won’t lie; before we made the trip back home, I took a nerve pill. I don’t remember where I got it, doesn’t matter. It was either that, or get out of the car and walk through the canyon, which would have taken a couple of days.

Same trip, several years later, only now the children number four. That should say it all about that “vacation,” but I will tell you some details. On the way there, we stopped to eat and I was feeding the “baby,” two years old, cottage cheese. Now this was one of his favorite foods and he wasn’t wanting to eat it, so I kept pushing it until finally I tasted it and it was spoiled.

Poor kid, I felt so bad! Most of the bad stuff happened to him during this trip. He was used to being barefoot in the summer and I couldn’t keep his shoes on him, so first thing out of the van he steps on a goathead sticker! And then in Phoenix, he went outside and burned his foot on the sidewalk. It was “only 110,” and as they say, “it’s a dry heat.” Whatever! I don’t care how dry it is, Phoenix is just for-crying-out-loud hot! I’m hoping he was too little to remember all this.

We made a visit to Lake Roosevelt, which is a pretty spot, I guess, but something didn’t look quite right about the scene and I finally realized it was because there were no trees anywhere. I was used to the heavily wooded shores of Beaver Lake and this lake just looked naked. And this was the trip that we went camping in the White Mountains, but I have included that story in another column.

I have traveled a little more in my adult years and have managed to see the ocean a few times, but there’s not enough space here to tell those tales. They’ll wait for another day. Hope this has prompted you to remember your own fun-filled (or not) vacations past, so thanks for reading, and don’t stop remembering!

Tamela Weeks is a freelance writer in the Gentry area. She may be reached by email at tamela.weeksgmail.com.

Opinion, Pages 4 on 06/26/2013