Train Tracks Of My Youth

Last night/this morning while sitting here and finishing my visitation to everyone, I could hear the train whistle blowing and the rhythm of it going down the tracks and I was instantly transported back in time.

I was eight years old and sleeping in my grandmothers house, "the camp" is what we call it. The train was about three car lengths away, up a little embankment just on the other side of the dirt road that ran right in front of the little house on the lake. At times the noise was so loud you couldn't hear each other talk, but I guess with everything you eventually get used to it. How I slept through it, I will never know.

I used to love to go up the embankment and walk the tracks. They would take me to the lily pond and I would sit on the tracks that bridged the water. It was such a beautiful place with all the lily pads and flowers floating on the surface and sometimes I would get to see the beavers at work. I'm guessing I knew the train schedule cause I never had to run for my life.

I had a toy milk jug that had a lid attached to the neck of it, part of my toys that grammie always kept at the camp. I would put pennies on the tracks and wait for them to get flattened, the I would force them into my toy milk jug. Who knew I was saving money so young. LOL!

Somewhere along those tracks grampie took me to go see the raccoons. He had such a way with the wildlife, they all felt very comfortable around him. We drove to what was the dump (in today's terms it would be called a compost pile). I never saw stuff like you would see in a dump now. Folks back then weren't super wasteful like now. The raccoons were all over this pile and they all looked up as soon as we drove up, the lights of the car glowing in their eyes. A few ran for cover, but there were also the ones that would scratch your eyes out if you should dare to think to take their pile from them. They will defend what they believe to be theirs! I was scared, but grampie got out and calmly started talking to them and was coaxing me out of the car at the same time. I stood behind him and peeked out at the wild creatures. They had calmed down and were going about there business. The young ones that had fled were now starting to come back out for their nightly feast. We had become nothing more than a shadow in the dark that was to be ignored. We stood there and watched in silence for what seemed to be forever and then the train came. I remember that it scared me, I was so into watching the raccoons that I hadn't even heard it coming.

Just sitting here reminiscing of my youth at the camp with my grandparents.

Writer's Workshop: Motorcycles and Us

This weeks prompts are:
1.) It was a bad burn.
2.) Write a poem for your furry friend.
3.) Describe a memorable camping trip.
4.) It happened on a motorcycle.
5.) Post a vlog that shows you playing with your kids.

I choose #4.

For me the question ought to be..What didn't happen on a motorcycle? LOL! BUT instead of pinpointing something that happened on a motorcycle, I'm just going to talk about our motorcycle history.

Hubby and I only had a Honda Goldwing motorcycle for transportation for nearly a year. Every where we went was on a motorcycle. Hubby road it to work every day, through the rain, sleet, snow, icy roads and every bug invasion you can think off. We took it to do the laundry. Hubby had an large army bag that we stuffed to the top and he would drape it across the back seat. We even did the grocery shopping with it. Fortunately it had a trunk and two saddle bags, but it still limited us to shopping by the week.
Hubby loved that bike and wasn't scared to show off on it.


There were times when I didn't like not having any way to get anywhere. With hubby taking the only bike to work, I was stuck at home all day. The only time I left the house was on sunday to go do all of our chores for the week (funny how we have come full circle, only this time we only have one truck and I am down to doing our errands on sunday again). Soo hubby came across a great deal and got this other Honda, he was thinking it would be great for me to go to the store with or to a friends house. Only problem with that idea was that I am inept at learning to drive a motorcycle without hubby trying to pull his hair out. I really liked his hair, so it turned into his little show piece.

He loved this bike even more than his Goldwing and even had the nerve to bring it in the house. I protested but lost. I won, when he tried to kill us by starting it in the house and letting it idle. The house was little and the exhaust built up pretty quickly.

I did love to ride, there truly isn't any other thrill like it.

It also had it's drawbacks. First of all check out that hair. Going down the road, little wisps of his hair would come loose or even his braids all together would sting or slap me in the face.

There was the laying the bike over in the sand and me landing on my feet (very lucky).
Helmets clashing, cause I was trying to use his neck as a warming device.
Numb tush.
Aching back.
Sunburned/windblown cheeks and forehead, the long term effect..Leather face.
Hair in a constant state of tangles.
AND THEN...
Losing control and wiping out; breaking his collarbone, getting road rash, busting the windshield, tearing off a saddle bag, having skin missing from his arm and a long recovery.
Turns the happy biker into an unhappy camper.

BUT before that happened...
There were plenty of great trips and bike runs. Meeting up with other bikers and hitting the road was awesome. The freedom of it all is very addicting.
We toured the hill country, went to Canyon Lake. Hung out with some of the greatest people and some we wish we could forget. We went on a bike run to Luckenbach Texas and camped out for the weekend. We also went to the Dinosaur Tracks for the day.

Plus many many more great places and with great friends. Friends we still have today, even though we have all scattered to the winds.
I must say this little post has made me very nostalgic and makes me miss all the crazy adventure we had. We were quite wild back in the day!

Now for more Writer's Workshop post, click on the button and head on over to Mama Kats place.

Scary house

When I was 8 we moved back to the side of town I loved the most. We had to move cause my brother was going to be born soon. I had to change schools again but at least it was to a school I had been to before and I knew the area a little. I still had friends in that area that I was happy to be close to again. One of those friends was Lisa, I knew she was different (Downs Syndrome), but being eight I didn't understand how. I really didn't care cause she was fun to be around, I just thought she was slow in the head. Which I didn't mind, I thought that about myself also.

This new house was on W. Broadway of Bangor, Me. We lived on the 3rd floor, like an attic that had been converted to an apartment. It was cool place. The weirdest thing though was that it had a stair case that went down into somebodies closet (clothes still hanging) with 2 doors and both were always locked. I had many a good time in there playing with someone elses clothes, but who's clothes were they?

Back to my story...

I would after school (nearly everyday), walk to Lisa's house. It was only about 8 blocks from our house. My parents would always tell me to walk on the sidewalks, never in the street or on some one's grass. In order to do this I had to make like a zigzag. My side of the street only had sidewalks for 2 blocks, go to the other side and cross the busy road and down some more.

(Click for larger view)


Well there was this house that had such a scary and eerie feeling to it that I would purposely break my parents rule and cross the street and walk on somebodies grass.
I would never take my eyes off the house, It was as if I was in a trace or something.
I even remember after not being able to turn my head any farther I literally walked backwards.
I would go past this house in such a panic that witches were going to come out and grab me and cook me for dinner.
My heart would be racing and I could hear my pulse in my ears.

All of us children back then believed it to be a witches house.

There was no curtains on the windows and the inside, was as dark as if it were night time. The paint was peeling off of the boards, some of the windows were broken and the lawn was eerie in itself.

Looked like the perfect place for a witch to hide, to jump out on passing children.

One day on my trek to Lisa's house, as I was not taking my eyes off of the house...

I saw a old lady standing in the second floor window, just enough to see that she had grey hair and it was pulled up into a soft bun with wisps flowing around her face. She was wearing a white puffy blouse and a something dark was around her waist.
As soon as I saw her and she me, she was gone.
If she had stepped backwards I might have not been so scared, but NO she just vanished.
I ran home (instead of Lisa's) so scared that I was crying. I was running so fast I remember my feet kicking me in the butt.
We moved shortly after that, but not because of that.


Now, I told Spot this post was going to be about her (and my hubbies) favorite author's house, but in doing research for this post I learned that he did not live there yet. So I decided to leave his name out of the post. He did not buy the place till 80'. And believe me it was no where near as pretty as it is today! Here are the pics I promised Spot. They are not great. (We were up there vising my grandparents and I was yaking with grammie who I hadn't seen in years)I wasn't all that interested in the place (do to my experience) as much as hubby was!

The house at an slight angle...


Hippie hubby walking past the house...


The perfect pic from the Internet...


I tried and searched for a pic of the place before he bought it, but no luck.