Popeye

Family History Writing Challenge - Day 27

** NOTE: The italicized font is creative non-fiction. Based upon the stories of my mother and uncle it is my creative writing of their memories. **

Mason sat on the floor beside the wood cook stove stroking Popeye’s silky fur. Big, round, soulful eyes looked back at her. His eyes were black and shiny like polished stones, so shiny Mason could see her reflection and his big long whiskers twitched as she spoke softly to him. Mommy was cooking dinner and Daddy had just gotten home from his shift at the can plant. After greeting his family, Daddy turned to Mason and said “okay, it’s time for Popeye to go out.” Mason stood as her father called to Popeye, “come on boy, time to go out.” Popeye, reluctant to leave his warm spot, twisted and heaved his body toward his master’s voice. Daddy opened the back door as both exited and rounded the corner of the house. Mason watched as Daddy walked beside Popeye down over the lawn, across the field, across the road and down to the beach. Popeye was awkward on land, but once in the water, he was graceful and free.

The ever-present breeze blew through the windows as Mom & I sat by the Lubec boat landing one August day.  The water rushed through the Lubec narrows swirling and dark, the current strengthened by the incoming tide.  People began to gather on the breakwater fascinated by the little black dots bobbing and floating in the current; harbor seals at play.  “I had a pet seal” mom’s wistful voice spoke from the passenger’s seat.  “His name was Popeye.  Every night your grandfather would take him down to the ocean to swim and when they returned Popeye would go sleep behind the wood stove; he was like a puppy. Amazing I thought, and how cool to have a seal for a pet, all I ever had was a dog and cat.

A Long Trip

Family History Writing Challenge - Day 25

** NOTE: The italicized font is creative non-fiction. Based upon the stories of my mother and uncle it is my creative writing of their memories. **

Mason’s hair flipped in the wind as she tilted her head to look at the road out in front. The sun shone bright on Wells and Mason as they sat in the rumble seat of the Buick on their way to Connecticut and a visit with mommy’s family. They had left first thing in the morning; mommy, daddy, the two kids and another man daddy had asked to come to help him with the long drive.  Leaving the ocean behind, the kids waved at the Crane’s house on the corner of Rte 189 as they turned on to Rte 1 toward Ellsworth. A short ways down the road Mason looked to her right at the sparkling water of Gardner Lake and thought of the children that had died in a boating accident there, while at a school picnic a few years before in 1936. A shiver went through her as she remembered going to a wake of one of the children. She also remembered the sound of one of mommy’s sisters in Connecticut who had called, frantic because she had heard of the accident on the news. Fearing that Mason and Wells were some of the children lost, mommy’s sisters had tried for hours to make contact. The news had said it was a school in South Lubec, but the report in Connecticut had been wrong. 

The air had warmed up, now that they weren't directly on the ocean. Onward they went through Machias, and Columbia Falls. Mason spied a big mural painted on the side of building in Cherryfield. She carefully turned in her seat to look better at the painting of a bear crossing a river on a felled tree with a salmon in its mouth, what a beautiful picture she thought.  Onward the car went, past Unionville, Milbridge and Steuben; out of Washington County. Mason shifted trying to get a bit more comfortable in the rumble seat, being careful though to keep the two kittens, Passie-May and Quoddy, safe and out of trouble.  They were bringing the kittens to Connecticut to give to their aunts.

As they came to a stop in Ellsworth, Wells turned and saw a Limousine with a uniformed driver behind them. The car was big and sleek and the driver looked so official, Wells turned around fully in his seat. Soon he was kneeling and gawking (his eyes as big around as saucers) at the scene behind him; never had he seen such a sight.  The driver realizing Wells was staring smiled a big wide grin at him as the cars pulled away from each other.  Wells turned back around thinking how much nicer it would be to ride in that car, rather than this rumble seat with his sister and two cats, it was going to be a long trip!

All Quiet on the Western Front

Family History Writing Challenge - Day 23 & 24

** NOTE: The italicized font is creative non-fiction. Based upon the stories of my mother and uncle it is my creative writing of their memories. **

Mason laid on the living room floor quietly drawing, it was time for the evening news. Wells was lying in front of the fireplace also quiet for both knew the importance of silence during this time. Daddy sat next to the radio, pipe in hand, legs crossed, leaning forward toward the speaker. It was 1937 and there was great unrest in the world, both near and far. Most of Daddy’s family lived in Eastport, which had just declared bankruptcy. No one in Maine really liked President Roosevelt, even though he had a house on Campobello, there were only two states in the union who didn't “go” for him in last year’s election; one was Vermont, the other Maine. And now with the government stopping work on the Quoddy Tidal project; diverting the money elsewhere, here was just another reason. There was a worldwide depression going on, but Mason wasn't overly affected by it. Daddy went to work everyday; the machines at the Can Factory always needed tinkering and fixing. Many a morning mommy would open the back door to find a bucket or two of freshly dug clams, that the Coast Guardsmen from down the road had brought by. They had a cow, which mommy went out and milked each morning as well as daddy being a hunter.  They had a garden and mommy would can in the fall; putting up vegetables from the garden as well as canning the meat. Wells loved to see the vegetables mommy packed in sand in the basement to keep them fresh. Both of the kids loved mommy’s relish, known as “Lindbergh Special,” it was good with just about anything. Yes, there was a depression going on, and Mason knew there were others who were not as fortunate as she was.

Mason kept drawing as daddy listened closely to the news. Amelia Earhart was still missing after disappearing in July, and there was a lot of unrest in Europe. Men named Mussolini, and Hitler were in the news and there was talk of another war. Mommy came into the room as the newsman talked about the Duke and Duchess of Windsor. Mommy had a picture of King Edward, now the Duke and his new wife, Wallis Simpson. Mommy was such a romantic; she loved the idea of a king giving up his throne for the woman he loved. The news was almost over and it was getting to be time for bed. Mason put the finishing touches on her picture and stood. Blowing off the pencil dust, she walked over to her father and presented him with the picture. Taking the picture in one hand and removing his pipe with the other he looked closely at the picture and smiled. Gazing at the pencil drawing of him sitting by the radio with his pipe, he read the caption written across the top “All Quiet on the Western Front.”  Turning to his daughter, he smiled again and said, “Very nice Mason. I love it.”

The Mystery of the Red Farmhouse

Family History Writing Challenge - Day 22

“Okay, so you remember swinging on the front porch swing with” before I could finish, mom stopped me. “There was no front porch on the house; it was a hammock I remember swinging in.  The other girl was also named Marie and we were about 10 or 11 years old, I think we were related somehow.”  Mom was adamant in her memories, “It was a large red farmhouse with an attached barn and a cemetery out back of the house. We used to meet family there, some relation to me. I think they owned a store in Columbia Falls and were somehow related to this Marie.” Years before mom and I had tried to find this mysterious red farmhouse, but were running low on gas and had to turn around. This mystery remains unsolved.

“What’s the chance this Marie was a Crane?”  I asked, trying once again to figure out this mystery.  “She was the daughter of Burpie Scott Crane of Whiting.” Mom thought for a moment… “That might be her, Grandma (meaning my grandmother) always talked about Burpie, I think it stuck in my head because the name was odd.” So I took another shot in the dark, “what’s the chance this house could have been in Whiting?”  The response was immediate and certain “No, I’m 100% sure the farmhouse was in Unionville. It was surrounded by hills for I remember being there when a thunderstorm came through. I could hear the thunder echo off the hills around the house. I also remember an older woman in the house; she owned a stereoscope I loved to look at and had beautiful Hollyhocks in the summer.  The house was built on a slope overlooking the road and beautifully kept.”

I would love to be able to write some creative non-fiction about Mason in the hammock. But at this time there are still too many unanswered questions, too much speculation about who owned the house, why did her parents take her there and who was the little girl in the hammock with her? I would like to be able to end this story with answers, but it’s not to be.  Instead, I end it with a hope to one day to find the red farmhouse with attached barn and find out who was in the hammock with mom.

Ice skating

Family History Writing Challenge - Day 21

** NOTE: The italicized font is creative non-fiction. Based upon the stories of my mother and uncle it is my creative writing of their memories. **

“Come on and hear, come on and hear Alexander’s Ragtime Band…” the lilting tones of Alexander’s Ragtime Band flowed on the winter wind as two skaters glided on the ice. “Come on and hear, come on and hear it’s the best band in the land…” Skeet, skeet, skeet, Mason’s skates quietly joined in rhythm to the song. Skating with her neighbor, a young man, 6 years her senior, Mason enjoyed his singing; he was a very good skater. A small frozen pond had formed in the field in front of her house, where Mason, her little brother and the neighbor children would gather. Although bitterly cold, the evening skating party was warm with friendship. Overhead the “northern lights” flamed in the sky, brilliant greens and pinks blazing against the black velvet sky; the most beautiful ever seen.

Despite the fact that Mason moved two years later, she never forgot the times she ice skated with him.  Once while vacationing in Lubec at the same he was home visiting his family, they briefly caught up. That was the last time they had spoken and seen each other, for now what must be over 75 years. Mason lost track of her childhood friend, but she never forgot and longed to find out what had ever happened to him.

“I can’t believe he spent time with a little kid; I was 12 and friends with his sisters; we all went to school together.” Mom heaved a sigh of resignation “I doubt he’d remember me, we were so young.” Having made contact with the niece of her neighbor (the daughter of one of his sisters) through social media, another one of mom’s childhood friends took on flesh in my mind. “I doubt he’ll remember me” she reiterated, but after a short period of time the following note was received via instant messenger: “…I’m thrilled to hear from you! You’re looking great!  I have fond memories of our icescapes. I also remember you being home to Lubec one summer when I was painting my grandmother’s house. You stopped by with your family & we had a brief chat. Take care.”   “Oh my, he does remember me!” Through the marvels of technology, pictures and addresses were exchanged. The lost art of letter writing sent by “snail mail” ensued for a brief period of time. Her question had been answered, her childhood skating companion found.

The Thunderstorm

Mulholland Light
seen from Lubec

“Mason, Mason are you awake?” Mason's husband urgently whispered to her, “Do you hear that? It sounds like crashing surf.”  The inside of the little Apache tent camper lit up with a lightening flash, immediately followed by loud rolling thunder. “Do you think the others will be alright?” was the pressing question on Mason's lips.

Tucked in a spruce grove at Herring Cove Provincial Park on Campobello Island,  Mason, her husband, mother and youngest daughter were together in the tent camper. Her son was sleeping in the back of the station wagon down the hill, while in the adjacent tent were family friends. The flashes of lightening and accompanying peals of thunder sounded like a giant tramping through the campground as the rain intensely poured onto the canvas. One flash and clap were simultaneous, indicating the storm was directly overhead, and had struck something very close by.

FDR Memorial Bridge

Mason didn't go to Campobello Island as a child; although she saw it daily across the narrows (barring a fog bank) it was a distant, foreign land to her. It was only after she was married that she ever stepped foot on it. With the new FDR Memorial Bridge built, connecting the United States to Canada, it was much easier to visit. Frequently, Mason and her family chose to camp on the island during their summer vacations. Herring Cove was a family favorite, with a black sand beach, rock outcroppings and woods to explore. Drinking water was drawn from a pump and toilets were pit, but from the campsite the beach and the ocean Mason loved, was a short walk away.

Campobello Island from the top
of West Quoddy Head Lighthouse

The next morning dawned bright and clear as the storm had “scrubbed” the air clear of humidity and resulting fog. Mason’s husband, being the consummate cook and outdoors man made a “woodsman’s breakfast” of eggs, bacon, home fries and toast. Grand Manan, and the U.S. mainland looked close enough to touch as the ocean reflected the bright blue, cloudless sky. Breakfast conversation was solely about the storm. Mason’s son had come up to the camper at first light, frantic as to what he would find. Relieved at finding everything as it should be, he related his frightful saga. Awakened by the intense thunder and white flashes of lightening he had peered out the car windows up to the camper. The wind was wild, tossing tree branches and anything not tied down around like a child’s toy. As a flash of lightening illuminated his surroundings, he looked to the camper and froze, it was on fire!  He was horrified 

Fish Weirs on Campobello

knowing he couldn't get out the car due to the storm, oh what was he to do?  As morning dawned it was discovered what he thought had been a fire was nothing more than a pink table cloth, hung to dry off the camper’s canopy with a Coleman lantern glowing behind. The “tent dwellers” had fared well, stating they had given thought to making a run for the car, but had stuck it out due to the severity of the rain. And as for that one close strike, the pump handled water spigot and the large overhead arc lamp, illuminating the pump area, took a direct hit; leaving both inoperable.

I was just a small child and barely remember this storm and trip. What I do remember is being curled up to my grandmother’s back safe from the outside danger. My mother relates that when they went to see Aunt Hazel on the mainland in South Lubec, mom was surprised to learn that Aunt Hazel never heard or saw the horrendous storm that tromped through the campground. Mom remembers this storm as the worst she has ever experienced; marking all others by this one.

Happy Birthday Daddy

Daddy

91 years ago today, my father made his entrance into the world.  Born in Port Jefferson, Long Island, New York to Harold and Ruth (L’Hommedieu) Eldridge, he was the first of three children. At the age of 2 he moved to Windham, CT, where his parents owned a dairy farm and later a school bus company. I know very little of my father’s younger years, I heard that he was doted on by his maternal grandmother. Frankly, I know more about his extended family; his aunts and uncles than I do about his immediate family. 

He served in WW II, in the Pacific Theater. I remember him telling the story of how the troop ship he was being transported in got caught in a typhoon. Many on the ship got seasick, but he found a group who didn't and played pinochle throughout the storm. He also befriended the cooks on the ship (my father loved to cook as well as eat) and made bread for the multitude on the ship. He and mom loved to tell the story of how when he returned from the service he tried to reduce the bread recipe down to make it. Mom tells me it was wonderful when it was fresh out of the oven, but once it cooled, the bread loaves hardened enough for her to paint and use as a doorstop. Daddy was also a "gourmet" cook, as mom went out to do some gardening, Daddy would fix dinner, beautifully presented.

Hurricane Gloria

Dad worked for the Telephone Company before it became AT&T, loved to camp, fish, and garden. He adored his wife and children and was a good friend to many people. I remember as a child I would wait anxiously to see what Daddy had brought home in his black rounded top lunch box.  Being a cable repairman he would get to stop at a bakery or farm stand, and he would bring home a goody or two.  I loved the summer when I would share in a fresh tomato he had picked up. When I was 18 my parents gave me the opportunity to visit England on a class trip.  I left the evening of Opening Day of Fishing season, but that morning my father and I went fishing together.

Mom & Dad
with my two older siblings

As my supper finishes cooking and I am near the end of this post, I realize I need to spend some time finding photos of my dad and his family. I would venture to guess a day does not pass that something is said or I do something that reminds me of my father. I come from such a rich history, both maternal and paternal; I don’t want future generations to lose what has been given to my siblings and me. Happy Birthday Daddy, I’m so glad you were born!

Daddy with the youngest