We
headed out of town again yesterday. This
time we were bound for a place called Diboll, Texas, to attend the funeral of a
friend of many years, Robby Robison.
Thing is, the funeral is not until Thursday. That gave us two days to get there without
getting too lost. Good thing.
I
think it might have started with those crazy stoplights they have around
Kemah. When they turn red, a white light
circles around the red part at breakneck speed, flashing like crazy. I think it might have affected Chris’ sense
of direction. Or maybe the car’s sense
of control. The “check engine soon”
light did come on again. But later it
went off. The transmission started
slipping, too. Things are definitely
looking up for a new car in our near future (assuming we make it home, of course). All I know is, my navigational skills were
perfectly intact. In spite of
everything, however, the car just seemed to keep listing to starboard. No matter what adjustment I tried to make,
nothing worked.
We
passed a church somewhere that looked like a huge tent, or a gigantic Hershey’s
kiss, or maybe a big old pimple. Very
strange.
The
roadkill variety was astonishing. Deer,
dog, raccoon, coyote, fox, and of course multiple rodentia.
There
was the town of Bleakwood. The only
thing there was the Bleakwood Cemetery.
I wanted Chris to stop so I could take a picture, but she saw someone
walking around in there. That was a bit
scary. Not sure if he was a live
resident or … something else.
We
went through the Piney Woods. Not that
there was a sign or anything. There were
just piney trees. Made of wood.
We
finally crossed over a bridge and a sign on the other side said we were in
Louisiana. We decided to look for some
Creole plantations while we were there.
Not looking for work or anything, but they were on the National Parks
registry, so we could get our book stamped.
Three or four times. If we could
find them.
I
laid in a course and Chris followed it faithfully. Right up until we saw a sign that said the
one road we needed to be on was closed 17 miles ahead. We had to find an alternate without the help
of Google Siri. We discovered there are
certain parts of backwoods Louisiana that she simply refuses to frequent. Our first option looked good, so Chris made
the turn. Onto a dirt road with a sign
partially covered by overgrown brush that said, “Dead End.” I tried to get her to keep going just to see
what was at the dead end, but she refused.
We did find a secondary road not too far away that looked considerably
safer.
And
we finally limped under an Interstate that was the exact cutoff we needed to
get to the first plantation. I told
Chris my shortcuts almost always work out for the best for those willing to
follow them. We did have to tour the
plantations backwards, but when have we ever done anything exactly by the book?
What
does ATT RMZ LTE mean? It came up on my
phone somewhere in the wilds of Louisiana.
Didn’t last too long, though.
I
did have a brief moment of serious indecision as we made our way back to Texas. We entered a town called Natchitoches. Now any cursory user of the English language
could sound that one out, right? It was
obviously the Louisiana edition of the famed Texas town (where we ended up spending the night, by the way), Nacogdoches, pronounced,
of course “Nah-cuh-doe-chess.” And I
know that’s how to spell it because I asked on FaceBook and a fire fighter
friend who grew up there told me (Thanks,
Jeremy). I may or may not have
argued a Park Ranger over the proper pronunciation. She insisted that the one in Louisiana was
something like “Nekkid dish.” That’s
just ridiculous. I calmly continued to
refer to it as it rightly should be - “Natch-ee-toe-chess.” What else could it be? Glad I could be of assistance.
Psalms
62:8 says, “Trust in him at all times, O
people; pour out your hearts to him, for God is our refuge.”
Father,
thank you for short cuts and road closures and alternate routes. The kind on road trips, sure, but the kind in
life, too. As long as you take them with
us. Amen.
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