Spring Travels: Another Antebellum Mansion

Lansdowne Plantation

The Great Great Granddaughter descendants of the original occupant
greet visitors to the house still in the family and shows hospitality and
a peek into the past in each room and some of the stories from within.

All told, there must me at least a score of fabulously furnished antebellum mansions scattered around Natchez, Mississippi.  In fact their antebellum mansions are a big industry in town.  For Natchez, March through April is "Spring Pilgrimage" - when the home are open to the touring public on rotating days and weekends.  Tickets (at $15-$20 a head) can be purchased inside the well done Natchez Visitor's Center for home tours, 3 for the price of 2 even.  We all quickly reached a consensus that if you've seen one (maybe two) set(s) of four-posted beds, imported Persian carpets, French draperies via steam boat from New Orleans and sideboards of silver cutlery ad nauseum, and the 'dependencies' (less euphemistically called 'slaves quarters') - you've seen them all.  But what the hey, looking over our options while in Natchez, we sprung for tickets to tour 'Lansdowne'; one of its great appeals was that it was still in the family of the original builders.  Like so many of these mansion and plantation homes, when rich-planter Daddy married off one of his daughters at 17 or 18, she was given a newly build house and 800 or so acres so that she and her new husband could properly entertain in the planter society - until the damn Yankees came and put an end to all of the great formal fun and soirees.   

At Lansdowne we were met by several sisters, descendants of Great Great Grandmother who guided us through the rooms and times of the mid-1860's.  Portraits of the modern family dressed in Confederate uniforms (dashing cavalry officers) and hoop-skirted ladies.  The table was set with so much silver and flatware that when I asked about the utility of one peculiar serving piece, I was told that no one really knew what that piece might have been used for in its day.  No wonder the planter class did not want to give up the institution of slavery - who was going to wash all of those dishes and polish all of that silver? 

The family silver now on display.
Hidden before the arrival of the Yankees and saved from looting in all certainty,

A splendid table

Dunleith Mansion

With our particular B&B comes a free tour of the Dunleigh Estate, so after breakfast in the carriage house converted into a fine dining hall, we grabbed a morning tour.  The estate was build by a Philadelphia banker who came to Natchez to court the business of wealthy cotton growers, but he ended up courting a widow with six children.  The banker and his planter-class wife had 9 more children to add to the 3-story Dunleith Mansion.

Dunleith Mansion
Mic Jagger has rented and hosted a party here.

Imported French wallpaper in the dining room

We set a spell on the lawn beside the greenhouse

Late march - In time to catch the tail end of the azalea blooms

Spring Travels: A Peculiar Interest

In planning this trip to Mississippi with the McCords, Donna mentioned that, "It might be kind of weird, but I like to wander around in old cemeteries."  I replied, "How peculiar - I enjoy those very strolls myself."  Once we had established our base in Natchez, with maps (and GPS phone) in hand, we moved through the city streets toward the edge of town to link up with Cemetery Road.  We slowly drove through the iron gates and found a slightly wider spot to pull over and gt out and being to slowly move over the green lawn, pausing to read and ponder the inscriptions carved onto the many marble headstones.  

The undeniable grief and tears that must have soaked this very ground have given rise to some very ornate stones in memory of those laid beneath.  As I moved from plot to plot, I do the arithmetic in my head; date of death minus the year of birth; perhaps I am surprised that seldom does my number arrive to anything larger than 50.  Death was a frequent visitor to the children and youthful parents in many of these handsomely carved monuments.  Often the family plot, enclosed by a wrought iron fence, would have the a marker for their daughter, her date of death preceded that of her brother, 2 years her senior, by merely two days.  Next to the graves of the children was a substantial monument, with the enscription, Beloved Mother".  She was likely too ill to grieve her lost children, as she died a day after her second child.  I surmise the all-too-common disaster of yellow fever or some such disease swept through the family, and quickly took out three of its members.  I pause, though I can honestly not comprehend the scope of this sort of tragedy.  We are blessed to live with 21st Century medicine and all of the advances of public health - a blessing so immense that we scarcely ever consider our good fortune in this country.

An ornate family plot
Natchez City Cemetery

Kirby takes a rest beneath a huge oak tree

  
I think, disease and death was much more common in the 19th Century, but I believe for all of its commonality and banality, the grief and affliction experienced was no less for frequency.  Standing in place for the grief stricken and in memory of those who have passed, great stones are erected and scriptures written.  I guess it ends this way for all of us, but a stroll through these stones and dated markers causes me to tred lightly and consider my steps into the unknown days that remain for me as I walk this earth.

No matter the cause, it is sobering to come upon the ground made hallow by the graves of those who gave their all for their cause.  The glory of the south was laid out before us in several location with monuments to those who died as a confederate soldier.  All the more sobering to see a marker "Unknown Soldier".  These lads gave away even the knowledge to their own kin of there final resting place.  No one but the Lord knows the identity of these bones beneath this soil.  It is without a doubt a place of great sadness, but the living with there etched words and monuments try to adorn the tragedy with the trapping of honor and glory.  We are a strange species.

A sobering sight
The graves of unknown soldiers

At rest
The Glory of the South

Having touched upon our peculiar interest in visiting the old cemetery and having been alone with our own thoughts of mortality, we left this place of the honored dead and retrned to town.

In the evening we made a point to go out and walk along the tall bluffs between Natchez and the Mississippi River.  As the sun arched into a western cloud bank and a barge pushed its cargo upriver, I again was struck by large thoughts of a small man before a mighty river.  I was standing upon a spot where the Natchez People, great earthen mound builders, European explorers from old France and old Spain, ruffians, river traders, wanderers, American combatants of a divided nation and a bloody war had no doubt once stood.  As the big waters flowed quietly southward, who know what mysteries can come to this spot but were never shared and and how many wanderers have passed along this way and are long lost to all memory.  I fell small on the bluffs above the Mississippi and tiny in the currents of history of what has already passed from here.  I have to wonder, what is yet to come?  But I know it is futile to guess, but it has been a pleasant experience to stand from this vantage and peer back into what has been.

Sunset at the bridge between Natchez, MS and Vidalia, LA

We return home to Texas tomorrow.  

On the Pilchuck - Back to Basics

Kind of hard to see the photos come in to my email from our general contractor.  But we knew we had to get to this point, and better sooner than later I suppose.

With the disappointing arson investigation not going anywhere fast (as near as we can tell), we are step-by-step working the details out with our insurance adjuster and general contractor and have retained the services of an architect to put it all back together and give us a future to dream of, back out on the Pilchuck.

With the estimates in for demolition and the requisite permits and financial transactions set-up, I gave the go-ahead to dip into some the insurance funds to get a skip loader and a couple of trucks to load up with splinters and charred flotsam that was the Cook home from 1960 until the place was burned down in retribution on Halloween, 2016.  Sue had requested that a little something of 'what once was' be set aside prior to the clearing of the lot in anticipation of rebuilding.  She asked that the kitchen vent fan and the rhododendron by the kitchen window be saved if possible.  The word came back that the kitchen fan was destroyed in the fire, but the rhody, they would try and transplant and keep it out from going under the blade of the demo team.

Once the wicked winter weather of 2017 turned from snow and ice into just merely an abundance of rain and the usual mud; the work was scheduled in mid-March. 

Looking down onto the basement slab from about where the dining room window once was.

Just basement slab and surrounding concrete foundation remains.
We will rebuild upon the original foundation.

We were offered the option of taking a lump sum settlement of the depreciated actual cash value of the 57-year old structure, or getting the amount of funds up to the limit of our full coverage paid out over the process of rebuilding the house.  The decision was quick and simple, we would leave too much money on the table if we took the lump sum, so it was time to invest in a future back out at the Cook home place.

We are putting together a new floor plan, trying to stay within (or more likely, kind of close) to a budget dictated by the insurance settlement.  Our fist blush estimate is that we will have a new house up by this Fall.  Reluctantly, we will have to yet open it up, brand new fresh and clean to a set of renters once again; at least until we are ready to make the leap to the Northwest.  I am not excited about having a new bunch of renters in our place, but they will help pay the bills and ease the financial strain for a little while.  The question has to be asked, are there any decent people who rent and respect their rental home?  From what I hear and have experienced, they are but few and as frequent as frog's teeth. 

Up and at 'em

I do not mind the bright, cheery dandelions that sprout in my yard.  They are thought to be weeds, but 'weed' is an arbitrary assignment by those of smaller minds, hard definitions and exclusionary thoughts as to possibilities and beauty.

My dandelions come in mid-winter and beckon the tortoise brothers hibernating under the secretary in our breakfast nook.  Several generation of these yellow constellations come and go into the long-necked fragile globe of puffy seed balls before the tortoises rise from their October slumber to join the feast.  As always, the dandelions were waiting in full glory on Sunday, March 19, when both Isaac and Chomper sleepily pushed their little turtle butts into the middle of the kitchen.

Turtle Butts
Hibernating in our kitchen from October through March
Dandelions are ready for the Spring Breakfast Feast!

Both still groggy when found in front of the sink, I welcomed them to Spring of 2017 and and plucked them off the floor and placed them in a sunny patch of delicious dandelions.  They began to munch flowers and leaves and all seemed right and good in the backyard world.

Chomper in a 5-month deep sleep under the Kitchen Secretary

The Garden Beet

"... and the beat goes on"; so sang Sonny and Cher. La de da de de, la de de da de da...

We sing to to a different beet.  The beet of the winter garden, la da de da de....

A mild winter, a little rain at the right thyme and Sue has produced a pretty peck of produce.  She tugged and pulled and the beets popped out plump and purple, primed for pickling.  

Wash off the dirt, slice 'em up thin and put 'em some jars of pickle juice and then at dinner time we sing the lyrics - ...and the beet goes on and on the table, la de da de da...

Time to plant the summer garden of tomatoes, peppers, banana squash, okra, herbs, artichokes, asparagus.  And yes, the beat goes on...

Tulip Time

Daffodils come into their own in Sue's garden in the first week of February, tulips will follow and try and out-do the early rising bulbs.  Many are planted, but few are brought to full bloom - is it 'bad seed' or is it the dastardly work of the squirrel pack that is always rooting around in our yard and taking the bulbs and the pecans?

Sue got a couple of showy blooms from her tulip effort this winter, with the tulips first blooming in a bright yellow, then transforming over the succeeding days into the low frequency end of the visible light spectrum; going from the first blush of yellow and then into oranges that deepen, approaching a red-persimmon before the petals fall to the ground.

A splash of color around our front porch, well worth the effort.

Your Tax Dollars at Work

Oh, to be a 4 year-old boy and home from school 

when all the action is happening in your very own front yard.  

That was the feeling when the city water crew arrived to repair the leaking water line coming into our water meter.  I was glad to see the crew getting ready to do their job, but I wished the event held the fascination it would have if we had a 4 or 5 year old in the house.  "Mom, can I go out and watch the workmen?"  "Only if you promise to stay on the front porch and not get in their way."  "I promise, I promise with a cherry on top!"  What bragging rights that would give a kid when he told all his neighborhood buddies, "I saw then digging up our front yard with big machines!"

Never-the-less, in the morning we heard the city trucks with their trailers hauling the excavating equipment pull up to our curb.  We hopped quickly into the shower before the water to the house was shut off, dried ourselves and dressed, and then stood in the front doorway to watch the men and their big yellow machines go to work.

There was probing the ground with a long steel rod to locate the problem pipe.  Another worker offloaded his concrete cutting saw on wheels while other crew members started the back hoe and had it idling in the street.  A good chunk of concrete was separated from the rest of the walkway by the saw and then the big machines moved in to pry up the large section of concrete sidewalk and then let it fall repeatedly, trying to get it to break into smaller pieces to be hauled off.  Still, somewhat exciting, even for a 55+ year old kid in the doorway.

We were off to our own appointed places of work as the city crew's repair work was winding down.  When I returned home in the evening, there was a big muddy spot where once the flooded sidewalk was.  A blue ribbon cordoned off the missing walk, presumably preventing any distracted joggers or walkers from falling into the mud pit of 3-4 inches deep and thence extracting a million dollars form our insurance company and/or the city.

A crew of concrete workers returned next week on the morning of Washington's birthday to set the forms and pour a new walkway.  When I came home in the evening, I did a bad thing (so unlike the (mostly) good kid I am); I etched a little message in the not yet dried cement to all who travel on foot and pass along the path in front of my house: 

Enjoy the Journey

No matter what path you may have chosen to travel down,

these chosen pathways often veer in unexpected directions 
or split into bewildering choices.

Looking back over your shoulder, 
the destination may not be the one you originally sought,

but while you have breath in your breast and a solid foot on the earth 

and yet more pathways before you,

Be mindful

and

Enjoy the Journey

The Fix is In

Relieved to discover that the leaking water line at our curb belongs to the city, I gave the city water department a call Monday morning to report that THEY have a leak.  Of course she said. "We'll have somebody come out and check that."  And so they did - 1 week later.

Over the course of the next several days, various workmen came by to spray paint lines and glyphs in various colors on our grass and sidewalk and stuck little colored flags in our lawn.  All subterranean cables, pipes and valves duly noted. 

Once the city did check out the leaking situation, they called and left a message with a reference number for us to use should we desire any additional information.  Sue called them using the return phone number and reference given, only to be asked, "And what is this in regards to?"  
   "Well, based on the reference number, I assumed you had on record that this is a water leak."
   "Did you need some one to come out there?"
   "I don't think so - since we just receive a phone message with this reference number."
   "Before they can do any work, they will have to identify and flag any utilities in the area."
   "That has already been done.  We were wondering when the repair work will be scheduled and whether we will be without water for a little while?"
   "That schedule would be up to the foreman."
   "Has this job (see reference number provided) been scheduled?"
   "No. I don' think so.  May next week?"
   "OK, thanks".

Out on my morning constitutional, I ran into Mr. Toner.  He lives on the corner lot on the other side of the block, but he has the storm drain for our street in front of his house.  I ask, Jim, what are you doing out so early?  Without missing a beat, he gruffly answers (with an implied wink); I'm trying to find out who's damn water is running down my gutter and making this mess.  I tell him gladly, that this damn mess is 'City of Garland water'.  He tells me I am lucky [don't I know it], when he had a water leak in his front yard, it cost him $1,700 to fix it.  I said, nope, not me. This is city water, the city's problem.

One morning before going to work, Sue saw a lone city employee standing on our curb.  She opened the door and asked if today was the day the leak was going to be repaired?  Well, he was expecting to meet a crew here, but I guess they are not going to show.  I'll have to see when we will take on this job.  Have good day.

But wait.  You and your crew will be here someday soon, right?

Yes mam. The fix is in.





   

Oh That Bogged Down, Sinking Feeling

We've all been there.  Maybe more often than we care to admit.  You know, when you get that flash of a thought, "I should take care of that - before it gets worse", right?  Then, you have that regretful conversation a little later, hopefully with only yourself, when you say, "Self: You dunderhead! Why didn't you take care of that when you first thought of it?"  Ah, but painfully and a touch too often the conversation includes someone else (like maybe your wife).  The 'someone else' shakes their head metaphorically once that little ignored hint of trouble becomes a worse problem that demands attention NOW. That's when the conversation ends with an implied, "I told you so".

I joined AARP thinking maybe we could get a break on lodging when we travel, a discount on Denny's Grand Slam B'fast and perhaps some insight on health insurance.  As a result of my AARP membership I was having just such a conversation with myself, all brought on by a one of those numerous pieces of 'junk mail' that arrive oh so frequently.  As a targeted member of AARP, I was offered a chance to get coverage for repair and replacement for any portion of my water and sewer line between the exterior wall of my house and the city's connection.  I looked over the junk mail offer and thought, "Self: you live in an area with extremely notorious swelling and contracting soil.  As a geologist, you know better than most that this soil can and will wreak havoc on your plumbing and foundation. Self, you know several of your neighbors have already had expensive exterior plumbing repair work, it could happen even to you.  Self, I think you should get this coverage."

That was back in the summer that me, myself and I had that little conversation betwixt us. But I stacked that piece of junk mail that piqued my concern in a pile on my desk with an affirming nod, "You know, you should keep that and think about taking care of yourself for what seems inevitable."  So there it sat, getting further buried with each passing on postman.

Of course, as the wife goes out to get the mail, mostly junk mail from AARP, she mentions to me in early February; "Hey, have you noticed that pool of water by our water meter box?"  Yeah, I did.  I was half expecting that to show up some day.  "Hey, did you ever go and get that water line leak coverage you mentioned awhile back?" [crickets]

A growing tide of unease as water bubbles up around our water meter box.
We begin to host many robins who enjoy the bathing and earthworms forced to the surface.

Each succeeding day, the pool of water gets a bit more expansive.  I go and look for that junk mail flier that I think must still be under one of those paper piles on my desk.  I read the cover letter to me, as a "Dear AARP Member"; it says that my coverage will begin 30 days after approval of my application.  Now, I have that sinking, bogged down feeling that I should have acted months ago, but I didn't.  So, maybe, the water leak is slow enough that I can wait out my 30 day probationary period and then get it fixed.  Oh I hope-I hope-I hope. 

The tide rises perceptibly across our front walk.  The robins are loving this.  They are now always in our boggy front yard bathing and eating the earthworms that are forced up by the sodden sod.  For the robins, 'The Corley Drive Birdbath' is the watering hole to meet, greet and eat.

Is it a leak on my side OR on the city's side of the meter connection.  If it is between the street and the meter, the city has to fix it at their expense. The wife say, "What are the odds it is going to be the city's problem?"  I tentatively suggest 50/50?  She looks at me sympathetically.

Finally I just gotta know.  On Sunday morning, I get down on my knees and baptize my two good hands by immersion.  I bail out the meter box, shut off the valve to the house and watch and listen.  I see a slow gurgling and a flow of water filling the iron box.  Oh hallelujah! It does appear the leak is between our meter and the water main in the street.  I feel as if I had just walked through the parted Red Sea on dry land with Moses and the Children of Israel.  Pharaoh's army and our destruction has been cut off by the waters of the Red Sea, I am delivered.  And since I am already on my knees, I give thanks to the Lord no less fervently than did Noah when he left the ark and stepped onto dry land.

Water, water everywhere; but not a drop on my dime - I think.

The New Year- The Same Thing, Only Different

2017.

The New Year.

It is the same thing, only different.

It has been the same thing for, I don't know how many years.  We join up with our friends the McCords out at their place in East Texas, west of Palestine (In Texas that is pronounced (pal-ah-STEEN). Palestine, Texas long pre-dated Mel Brooks movie, Young Frankenstein (that is Fran-en-STEEN).  Anyway, all of our kids were young 'uns back when we began this tradition, now some are married and most are no longer coming to ring in the New Year with their parents.  So, we gather in the "bunk house" several days after Christmas and a few days before New Years and cook and drink and eat and talk like we have always done before, only without the kids to manage, so it is the same thing - only different.

Sue and Brenda are stationed around the kitchen island
always a tine to catch up and exchange what is new in all of our lives

Nobody strays far from the kitchen, at least for very long.  Plenty of snacks and conversational tidbits to chew on while one of the guests is preparing the next meal.

Brenda & Sue take on the challenge of a new jigsaw puzzle.
The ladies always have plenty to puzzle over into the night.

Kirby brings a glass of port - it is part of the puzzle-solving tradition

The "kids" (now in their mid-20's) play the latest parlor game
around the dining table

The Rices arrive and we are glad to see them, since they always bring interesting wines and Mark R. is a master of the barbecue.  This dinner time he draws out the long knives and cuts a brisket into sumptuous servings 

A red with a good nose.  Let's eat!

Mark & Kathy both have that "look in the eyes"
as they are about to serve something really fine.

Grab your grub and take a seat.  Let the good tastes roll!

It is New Year's Eve, and that means it is time to light some Chinese imports on fire.  The fireworks display under the oak trees goes on for about an hour before we get to midnight.

Great Gobs of Goodies!
We may be getting low (not) on sweets -
Sarah and Brianna set to baking some more cookies.

HAPPY NEW YEAR!

Christmas 2016

A few Christmas photos:

Tree set up the night before St. Nick arrives

The stuffings of an artichoke pillow

Found a gift from the 1970's
Grant sends us a Pet Rock (On it's leash)

Sue styling a microwave tea cozy

Recipes for cheese soree

A Tree for Thee

Christmas time.  It seems to happen just about every year, whether you want it to come or not.  

This year I was ambivalent about the Holiday Season.  I'd just as soon not give in to making it the big event it is supposed to be.  Nothing against those with dreams of sugar plums dancing in their heads, candy canes, a blizzard of shopping catalogs storming my mailbox, the expectations of the 'perfect gift' and stockings hung with care or even Jack Frost nipping in the air; I just wasn't feeling it as the current vernacular goes.  It was going to be a low-key event around here anyway, no visitors, no family and no parties on the calendar.  Let us wish the new born Savior our best and leave it at that.  So, I suggest to my wife, "How about we just skip Christmas this year?"  She says, No, I want Christmas.  Never-the-less, I don't intend to make a big deal for Christmas.

I do put out some Christmas lights in front of the house.  It seems like a cheerful little gesture and brightens the neighborhood with a little effort on my part, no harm there.  Well into the short days of December, to the point where it may be too late, my wife says, "We should go cut a tree."  I remind her that this is the time when Kadee Christmas Tree Farm (60 miles east) closes for the season, you'd better call first.  She uses her phone and they tell her they were going to shut down last weekend, but they decided to stay open this very Saturday until 4 PM.  That gave us about 3 hours to get her Christmas Tree selected.  We peeled out of the driveway and drove east to the verge of Texas' Piney Woods to hunt for a tree in the tradition of Sunesons for over 20 years.

Those inflatable lawn ornaments - so 2016 - are all the rage, and are found proliferating on lawns all around our subdivision, were even found at the venerable Kadee Christmas Tree Farm.  

We grab a saw and a tree tag and we are off on the hunt

 A cold front was supposed to arrive in the late afternoon, but it was in the 70's (as so often is the case in a Texas tree-hunting December)

With bow saw in hand, we go to wander the back acreage where rows of Virginia Pines are grow and awaiting harvest.

Victory for Lumber Jill

A 6-footer fits into the back of the vehicle for the trip home

It used to be that around Christmas time and especially on the hour drive into East Texas, we would encounter other cars with a fresh cut tree tied to the top on their way home with the evergreen element for the holiday living room.  I have not seen a family car with a tree tied on top in several years. Also, it used to be that we would have 'Christmas Tree Lots' spring up in December in the far reaches of the mall parking lots, with fir and pine and spruce imported from Oregon, Colorado and states where real trees grow green and aromatic.  Alas, has it all become plastic and artificial.  So it has come to artificial, plastic Christmas trees?  What is next, artificial and plastic Jesus?

So despite my wish to skip Christmas, we ended up with a real live Christmas tree.  

As is family tradition, we stop on our way home to get barbecue.  But even the smoked ribs and brisket at Big Daddy's BBQ did not taste as good as years past.  Is it just me, or is BBQ becoming plasticesque as well?

Merry Christmas!