"The heaven's declare..." Pt 6

Well, we have made the move, busy week plus.  Getting things back under control.  So here we go with the next section:
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"If we learned the names of these places, it did us no good with our French when we took a little trip into Quebec.  Faith, J.W., Merry Sue and I gave ourselves a day in the French city of Rouyan, Quebec.  Since we no "Parlez vous (much) Francais" and the people there no "parlez" our English we had a hilarious time making our wishes known.  The first thing we tried to do was find a place to eat.  By the time we had walked ourselves tot he point of near collapse (especially me) we were clamoring for food.  But, we had seen nothing that faintly resembled a hamburger stand, which was about our speed.  You know I am sorry to say some of my family is shy.  And, you would never guess which of them it is Believe me or not my dear husband would much rather starve than ask where he could find a place to eat, or he would drive miles out of the way before letting anyone know he was on the wrong road.  I know from experience.  Not old talkative me.  Once when visiting a dear friend in Connecticut, she put her young daughter and me on the train for New York.  We were going to Rockefeller Center Music Hall and she said as long as we had a tongue in our head and could talk we could go anywhere, we did and I have never forgotten this bit of advice.

So to J.W's embarrasment and pleas not to do it, showing my ignorance, I crossed the street and accosted two policemen,  to ask where we should go.  Rather I thought I asked them.  I certainly talked long enough.  Well, my poor knowledge of French id me no good and their knowledge of English not much better, so we went round and round for a few minutes.  One of them finally decided to let me know he spoke a little more English than I did French, after I made him understand I was hungry by sign language which is a wonderful thing.  I must have resembled a circus contortionist from all I hear.  He told me there was "a small, clean, good food" and pointed to a little cafe or lunch room half a block from where we stood.  Hooray!!!  The other policeman kept time by nodding his head with a grin on his face, seemed to be in full agreement and understanding of all that was said.  Phooey on the Frenchmen!!!

The sign on the restaurant said "Chez Jeanette".  We entered and here the fun really started.  A very pretty, smiling young French waitress came to take our orders and also J.W.'s eye (darn the man).  Merry Sue is a good French scholar.  In fact she is better than good, third in her class.  However, as the accents of people from all over the United States differ, so do the accents of the true French differ from the French taught and spoken in High Schools.  With much sign language, pointing to the menu, and, the help of a few greatly amused customers we finally made our wishes known.  All we wanted was a hamburger and french fries for all, and our drinks.  Never have I eaten such good hamburgers.  Faith and I knew to say cafe' for coffee and tell her it was "bon" for good.  We learned that french fries were frites (freets).  She understood we wanted apple pie a la mode, this must be a universal order and the same in any language.  Before we go again I betcha I can order a meal in French, even to the lowly hamburger.

After lunch we shopped around for souvenirs but nothing was attractive and unusual enough to spend our money for so J.W. bought more cards to mail to his many friends back home.  He mailed about 175 during the time we were away.  By this time all of us were in great need, and in one particular case (mine)a rushing need to find a relief station or to be more explicit the restroom.  In a large department store our search began.  Again an understanding of the language would have been a big help but, we once again had to revert to sign language.  What a comedy!!!  Did you ever play the old game of trying to pat your head and rub your tummy at the same time?  I am sure you have.  This was somewhat like that.  They ave teased me about almost buy not quite having to squat in the floor to get what I wanted.  I must have had a horrible grimace on my face or one of pure agony and rubbing my poor griping tummy.  finally the poor befuddled young girl said "OOO the twoylette du poobleak" meaning the toilet for the public.  Rather weakly and with a sickly grin I answered yes yes and hurry.  We followed her across the entire building where she silently pointed to the stairway leading downstairs.  Ignorance may be bliss but it came very near being accident in this instance.  I can ask for the toilette du publique next time, I betcha."

Please note: I have tried to not change the spelling or grammar.  Note: she typed this on a typewriter (without the benefit of spell check...LOL).   Here are a couple of pictures from the album.  

"The heaven's declare..." Pt 5

Well, our house is in boxes.  Moving day Friday, loading day tomorrow and final packing today.  Don't know when I will get another chance to add to this so, have a free moment...

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"Faith and the children had plans for something to do and see every day during our stay.  We went on picnics, we went blue-bery picking, goose-berry picking, for raspberries and for a delicious plum called suger-plums.  Another fruit called "pit" cherry, very tart and I did not care for this one much although it makes a delicious jam or preserve.  These all grow wild and are very plentiful.  Needless to say I did not do any picking, only enough to eat myself.  I carried a folding chair, and a blanket, bundled up like an Indian Squaw and did some crocheting.

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Kirkland Lake is a nice little town (18-20 thousand), like any other town you would probably find in the Untied States that is only fifty years old.  Still in the throes of growing pains.  There are excellent schools and colleges, many churches, banks, super-markets, amusement places (many of these are ice-games that require one to be adept on ice,  I am happy to state that the Bill Adair family is becoming good at these games).  There are also some very good shops.  There are more Chinese restaurants and Chinese people in ALL towns from Toronto north than I have ever seen in any place I have been.  The reason for this may be because it is easier for them to enter Canada than the United States.  They have wonderful food and are very generous with their servings.  They also speak very good English.  Kirkland Lake is the only city in North America and probably the world that can boast of having three miles of their main street paved with gold ore from one of the many mines in the area.  Of course the streets do not glitter like gold but it is the gold-ore from the mines just the same.  (I remember that all of the rock on the railways was full of obvious 'fools-gold').

Kirkland Lake is a town made up of people from all countries, all races and religions.  Very few if any negroes.  I saw none, but I believe there is to be a Negro teacher in the High School this next year.  All people were friendly and our Florida tag and my F.F.A. tag (I cannot remember what this was, maybe one of my siblings?) on the front caused many people to turn for a second look and give us a smile of welcome.  Many asked what part of the South we were from after hearing us speak.  As if they could tell we were from the Southland!!  I said everywhere there was a welcome..Almost..Faith had a new neighbor.. A POLACK AND A STINKER.  He was a refugee from Hitler's persecution and seemed to think because of this he owned the whole province of Ontario as well as a good portion of North America.  For no good reason he wanted to pick a fight with Faith and the children, when J.W. went out to find out what the argument was all about, he called J.W. some vile names and told him to go back to Florida with the Negroes where he belonged, Canada was his country and we were not welcome and wanted there.  At this, Faith was fighting mad and told him Canada was also her country and had been for the past ten years and we were her guests, not his.

He would also not argue with Bill or any other man but had rather fight women and children so he stated.  Never have I seen J.W. so white and mad, but I am happy to report he held his temper in check for once.  Although he said he wanted to tell Mr. Samboli Hitler failed failed to finish the job.  He should have rid the world of all undesirables such as he, who only fought women and children.  For the last two nights before we left the air was let our of our tires.  Although we have no proof that he was the guilty party he had vowed that he had a way to make us leave.  As J.W. was out inspecting the tires, he was peeping around the corner, grinning.  NIZE PEOPLE EH WHAT.!!!

We learned the names and how to pronounce many strange sounding Indian lakes, towns and rivers.  There is one we did not learn to pronounce if anyone ever has.  It is Mesinocwanigwahiganing (which the Indians call simply, "Peter Long Lake"); there is Lake Rimuskaming, which means deep water; Kapuskasing river, meaning rough water; Lake Nipissing; Chapleau; Attawaspikat; Sugluk; Onakawana; Abitibi river; Lake Temagami; Lake Kenogami, meaning Long Lake and many many others.  All very fascinating.

Then there are the names of the people.  A school friend of Terry's whose name is Abraham Chookamoolin.  He and Terry play the guitar together for school and church affairs.  He is training to teach and plans to go back to his home in the far northland to teach his people.  He does not see his parents from September untill school is out in June.  He can go 282 miles from Kirkland Lake by train, then fly if in summer and by dog-team if winter and the expense of either is very great one which he cannot afford to make."

Here is a handout that is in the book.  Below are some pictures of a 'gold-brick' box I found while cleaning out this house, I am happy to report that it has been received by The Museum of Northern History in Kirkland Lake this week past.   I believe I mentioned prior, we lived in the old Sylvanite Mine bunkhouse beside the Loyal Order of the Moose hall. 

"The heavens declare the glory of God, and the firmament shewth His handiwork" Pt:4

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"We were to spend Friday night and Saturday in Toronto, 115 miles from London, with friends of Bill and Faith's and go on the Kirkland Lake Sunday.  Bob and Margaret Nye and their young son Jonathon, although perfect strangers to J.W. and me, were perfectly lovely to us.  The kind of people you seem to have known always.  Due to two accidents, construction work on the highway, heavy afternoon traffic it took us exactly one hour and a half to drive eight miles from near the airport in to Toronto.  I am sure glad Bill drove for us.  Of course at dinner my high-falutin' diverticulitis decided to act up.  I could not indulge too much in the delicious food and drink offered to us.  Bob and Margaret insisted we return to them when we left Kirkland Lake for home, but, we felt this would be too much an imposition so did not make any promise.

Sunday morning, although we hated to say goodbye to Bill for what we knew would be another year or more, we were anxious to be on our way.  After a nice breakfast Bob and Bill escorted us to the edge of the Metropolis (a city with the population of Toronto, 1,835,000 should be called a metropolis don't you think?) where we were to pick up Route 400 north.  We were glad they did.  Highway 401 which we took out of Toronto is a perfect nightmare.  nine lanes of traffic going in each direction, without overpasses, underpasses, exits and yields by the score.  I am sure a master-mind laid out the highway, I am equally sure that he was a raving maniac by the time he was finished.  However, I am told this was merely the belt-line around the city such as we have in the larger cities of the United States.  Downtown Toronto I was told have twelve lanes going each way and as many over and underpasses, exits etc., as the other.  I am glad I had no business downtown but if I had been asked to do so I bet I'd have made it.  Wanta bet?

We had a drive of 355 miles ahead of us over new territory.  Traffic was very heavy for the first 55 miles, the first Monday in every month is a legal holiday in Canada so people by the hundreds were off to the many parks, lakes and river for fishing, boating, camping and just picnicking.

After a long hard day's drive, and after counting off each mile that brought us nearer our journey's end we finally arrived in Kirkland Lake where our dear Faith and the grandchildren were waiting.  Needless to say that although they were not sure whether we would arrive on Sunday or Monday we were joyously welcomed.  Just time enough for a needed visit to "you know where" and we locked our car, transferred to the bus (Faith's Chevrolet bus) and we were off for a picnic supper on one of the many lakes which surround Kirkland Lake.

The weather was a bit chilly for us, Floridians who have allowed their blood to thin, but it was good for us, very invigorating.  They have no air pollution there and it is very clear.  Can you imagine sitting before a roaring fire the first week in August?  Almost like going swimming in the Atlantic on Christmas Day.  We will have proof if our pictures are any good.?"

The heavens declare the glory of God, and the firmament sheweth His handiwork Pt 3

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"The garage owner said until they could put the care upon the rack, they could not tell us the extent of the trouble or just what is was, and since it was Saturday and getting late they wold have to get any parts that might be needed before the stores all closed.  Also is was so terribly hot there for us to have to wait for an definite time, he sent us on to the motel.  First telling us that as soon as the repairs were made he could bring the car to us, but he warned us we might have to remain over Sunday and with a big grin aided "and possibly Monday" saying they like to keep nice people there as long as possible.  We went to the motel, had a shower and a nice nap before dinner.  About an hour and a half later there came a knock on our door and it was the boy from the garage with our car.  To our great relief the damage, "No brake fluid and a minor adjustment necessary".  Carelessness on hte part of the man who did the last service job before we left home.  So we were out just $7.03.  Again this was an answer to prayer, for had it happened when we were going through Atlanta in a driving, blinding rain on Saturday afternoon, bumper to bumper traffic and no place to go off the road, a serous accident could not have been avoided.

After a dinner we could both enjoy and a good night's sleep, we were up and away early Sunday morning.  Another beautiful day's drive through the Lookout Mountains of Tennessee along the Tennessee River over the new highways to Monteagle.  Then on to Goodlettsville, Tennessee for a short visit with our dear friend of many years, Mrs. Herman H. Lowe.  After giving our promise to stop with her on our return trip home, we were on our way once more, the last leg of the first stage of our trip.

About 5:00 P.M. we arrived in Hopkinsville* where two of my dear sisters were waiting for us, we were sorry to learn that Della was in the hospital but happy to know she was well on the recovery road.  We had time for luncheon with my cousin Hazel, dinner one night with sister Elsie and Bill, a visit to the cemetery, a trip to the hospital to see Della and then our all-too-short visit had to come to an end.  We had persuaded sister Irma to go as far as Louisville with  us for a few days.  {*Barb the kids and I visited this house on our trip to the Creation Museum then down to Fort Donaldson back in 2010, no one was home, but a lady in her 40s or so from across the street said, that when she was a little girl, two older ladies had lived in that house}.

We had two nights and a day in Louisville with Eunice and Bob and here i once again unloaded the car, but I must be like the rolling-stone gathering moss as I roll along.  I left "stuff" at every stop we made, but so help me I had gathered so much more at each place than I left, J.W. threatened to hire a trailer or a truck to haul it home.

Thursday we left Louisville at 8:00 A.M. for Canada, over Interstate 71 to Cincinnati then picking up our Interstate 75 on in to Detroit.  When we reached Port Huron, north of Detroit, it was 4:00 P.M. but since Michigan was not on daylight saving time, we had lost an hour so decided to cross over into Canada before stopping for the night.  We crossed over ton the beautiful Blue Water Bridge which raises high over the St. Clair River.  This river is a part of the great St. Lawrence Seaway.  If you remember Bill (my dad) worked on the seaway several years when he was with Standard Dredging.  Port Huron is on the American side of the river and Sarnia, Ontario the Canadian.  We found a nice motel just on the outskirts of Sarnia and here we decided to stop for the night.  It was raining and a very cold wind blowing.  I was glad to have my all-weather coat with me, certainly put it to good use.

Friday morning we took our own good time driving the short distance of about 65 miles over to London where we were to meet Bill.  We had no difficulty in locating his rooming house near the university.  We were told by his unfriendly landlady that he was having exams and would not be home until 1:00 P.M. or 1:30 P.M.  We drove downtown as J.W. wanted to do some shopping for Boy Scout Equipment.  Since we had been in London before we had no trouble going directly to Eaton's in the Mall.  When we returned to the University we had only a short time then to wait."

48 Years

 

Some one with the last name of Adair has resided at this address since July of 1972.  Barb and I (according to the original deed paperwork) are either the fourth or maybe fifth owners.  Built in 1904.  Quite a bit of history here.  A bittersweet moment to see the sign.  God bless.   js

The heavens declare the glory of God, And the firmament sheweth His handiwork" Pt 2

"Our trip began at 3:00AM July 26th (1969) as we left our home on Avon Road in West Palm Beach and headed due north by way of the Sunshine Parkway and on to Interstate 75 which we followed all the way in to Chattanooga, Tennessee.  Here we took Interstate 24 to Nashville and U.S. 41 to Hopkinsville.

We saw the sun rise many miles from home.  Being very economical I ad packed the making for our first breakfast and lunch.  We pulled into a service center parking area on the turnpike about 6:30 A.M. for our coffee and doughnuts.  A nice shady roadside park somewhere in South Georgia served as a dining room for our lunch about 1:00 P.M.

Even the flat Florida highway over which we traveled and the rolling hills of Georgia looked good to us, for, we were on our way and had three weeks ahead of us in which to have fun and rest.  Did I say rest?  Well we could dream could we not?

The weather was a bit warm, or let us be honest and admit it was "hot" but our little eight year "young" Chevy purred along beautifully eating up the miles and with the air-conditioning working perfectly, we were kept cool and comfortable despite the heat on the outside.

We had planned to stop the first night just beyond Cartersville, Georgia (about 50 miles west of Atlanta) at the motel where we have stopped several times in the past.  A very near accident just one mile from the motel threatened to put an end to our trip then and there.  Saturday afternoon, heavy traffic, a red signal light ahead.  When I applied my brake, to my horror, I had none, the emergency did not help on bit either.  Thank to my reflexes being still on the job, the fact that I was in the right lane of traffic, and there was a graded but unpaved shoulder of the road handy, I was able to pull off the road and stop the car without the accident.  Whew!!!   Then we found there was no forward movement to be had from the car and when ewe put in it reverse there was no stopping.  Fortunately, we were directly across the divided highway from a wrecker service and service station.  Not knowing the trouble or what the cost of repair might be, we started to count our money to decided if we could afford to buy a new car if we could only make it to Louisville.  We received kindness and courtesy for beyond the call of duty from the garage people.  We called and made reservations at the motel, told the enough of our trouble so they would understand our lateness in arrival."

My granddad on the left (J.W.) and my dad, about 1985. (MS told me 84-85 time-frame)

"The Heaven declare the glory of God, and the firmament sheweth His handiwork" Pt 1

This is the headline of a book, recently found, that was compiled by my paternal grandmother Francis Adair nee: Fuller, sometime in the late sixties.  Born in 1900 in the southern United States (Hopkinsville Kentucky), oldest of seven sisters.  Married my grandfather as a second marriage (apparently scandalized for the day, a divorced woman).  Yet: one of the strongest memories of an adult that I hold from my childhood as the youngest, later second youngest, in what for the time was not an overly large family (six, seven and later eight children).  A woman who left an imprint on me, on my marriage, on my children (though they may not be aware).

Well, there is my introduction.  I may interject as I write out her book, I will do so in {brackets}.  But mostly I am going to try to be faithful to what she wrote.  A southern, Baptist, woman, in her late sixties, travelling from south Florida to the James Bay, in the summer of 1969 (I was just ten years old).  Here is her story as she wrote it, I have even left mis-spellings or America spelling as much as I notice.

"This verse from the 19th Psalm is one that I learned many years ago, while in the eight grade.  Until J.W. (my grandfather) and I made this 5000 mile trip this summer, traversing six states and two Canadian provinces, it was just that, a familiar and oft repeated verse from one of the many Psalms our beloved teacher Mrs. Moss required us to commit to memory.

Abraham Lincoln once said, and I quote "I can see how it might be possible for a man to look down upon the earth and be an atheist, but I cannot conceive how he could look up into the heavens and say there is no God."

I cannot see how man can look upon the earth and say there is not God.  The beauty of the lakes, rivers, rolling hills, winding roads through the mountains, the rich farm lands, bustling cities we saw were all things long to be remembered and evidence of His great love.  And man can say there is no God?

I do not claim to be a brilliant author, nor even a good story writer.  I did want to share our summer's trip and fun with my sisters and a few kind and interested friends.  I have been asked to report it this way.  I might say the request came after I had said I might do it this way.   So this is my way of telling you of our trip, and I hope you will not be bored.  Also that you will excuse any and all mistakes for I always seem to get a typewriter that makes a great many mistakes.  I never do you know.  Do wish all of you could have been with us."

That is all for tonight.  Hope someone reads this.  It is in an old binder with the type-written pages inside of plastic sheet protectors.  She was not much older than I when her and J.W. took this trip.  I look forward to sharing this with you.  Good night.   js