don’t cross here what are we going to do?”
Patricia looked down at the ferry, then turned back to me. “It looks scary.”
“It’s just part of the adventure. Let’s go! Get in and work the brake.”
My wife grumbled as she climbed into the cab of the cart. “It’s just part of the adventure. You and your ‘It’s just part of the adventure.’ ”
The ramp down the levee to the river was concrete with ridges that ran perpendicular to the hill to give vehicles traction. With the tungsten-carbide cleats on Della’s shoes, and the concrete ridges, she had good footing. But there was loose sand on the surface that made the cart’s tires skid when Patricia applied the brake. So Della’s butt was hunkered down in the harness as she struggled to hold the load back. But our big girl had traction, so it all went well.
That is, until she stepped onto the ferry’s steel ramp. Then all traction was gone. The deck sounded like a stage full of tap dancers as her hooves scrambled for purchase on the smooth steel. I was scared that at any moment she would fall down. But within seconds she got her footing and we were standing solid in the middle of the ferry. Della was shaking, and so was I. From inside the cart, Patricia clapped and cheered. “What a good girl! That’s my girlie pie!”
The deck hand was raising the ferry ramp as I locked the brake and blocked the cart wheels. I asked, “Are we the only ones going across?”
“Yep. We’ve been expecting you. The captain said he’ll take it slow so we don’t scare your mule.”
The diesel engine on the tug revved up, black smoke swirled above the river and the barge slowly began to move. Della took a couple of nervous steps to the left as she turned her head to look at the tug. The stern of theboat swung away from the barge churning up a wake of frothy brown water. While the tug turned around to face Kentucky, I could feel Della tense up–her legs were quivering.
I stroked her neck. “It’s all right, Big Sis.”
After the stern of the tug was secured to the side of the barge, we slowly sailed away from Missouri. That’s when Della began to relax. Soon she was looking up and down the river sightseeing. On her face I saw the same fascination she had for the marching band. But instead of music and twirling majorettes, it was boats in the roiling brown current that enthralled her. Several tugs pushing barges came close because our captain got on the radio and said, “Wait till you see what I’ve got on board.” Then reading from our flyer, he told them about us.
At one point–mid-river–the ferry slowed so a parade of them could pass in front of us. Every one of them blew their horns with all hands on deck waving and shouting. We couldn’t understand them, but it was obvious Della was a hit with the river folk.
For that half hour on the Hickman Ferry, Della was Queen of the Mississippi.
CHAPTER 4
T HE S TATE O F A MERICA I N K ENTUCKY
I N K ENTUCKY, THINGS WERE DIFFERENT . Instead of the plainness of the Delta, there were rolling hills with oaks, elms and hickories–some of which shaded the road. And as we trekked through Kentucky’s farm land, we started seeing a crop that we hadn’t seen before–tobacco. Big green broadleaf plants that were being cut down at ground level with machetes, then hauled to a barn and hung to dry Whether the barns were wood or metal, they all had their doors open so fresh air could circulate through the hanging plants. When the wind was right, we could smell a tobacco barn long before we got to it. It’s a fragrance like no other. Although I’m not a smoker, I’ve always found the aroma of non-burning tobacco pleasing. Especially when it’s in clean country air.
Back in the Delta, we didn’t see many people out in the fields, because crops like corn, soybeans, rice and cotton were planted, cultivated and harvested by machine. In places like Grubbs, Arkansas, and Morehouse, Missouri, people blamed the
Patricia looked down at the ferry, then turned back to me. “It looks scary.”
“It’s just part of the adventure. Let’s go! Get in and work the brake.”
My wife grumbled as she climbed into the cab of the cart. “It’s just part of the adventure. You and your ‘It’s just part of the adventure.’ ”
The ramp down the levee to the river was concrete with ridges that ran perpendicular to the hill to give vehicles traction. With the tungsten-carbide cleats on Della’s shoes, and the concrete ridges, she had good footing. But there was loose sand on the surface that made the cart’s tires skid when Patricia applied the brake. So Della’s butt was hunkered down in the harness as she struggled to hold the load back. But our big girl had traction, so it all went well.
That is, until she stepped onto the ferry’s steel ramp. Then all traction was gone. The deck sounded like a stage full of tap dancers as her hooves scrambled for purchase on the smooth steel. I was scared that at any moment she would fall down. But within seconds she got her footing and we were standing solid in the middle of the ferry. Della was shaking, and so was I. From inside the cart, Patricia clapped and cheered. “What a good girl! That’s my girlie pie!”
The deck hand was raising the ferry ramp as I locked the brake and blocked the cart wheels. I asked, “Are we the only ones going across?”
“Yep. We’ve been expecting you. The captain said he’ll take it slow so we don’t scare your mule.”
The diesel engine on the tug revved up, black smoke swirled above the river and the barge slowly began to move. Della took a couple of nervous steps to the left as she turned her head to look at the tug. The stern of theboat swung away from the barge churning up a wake of frothy brown water. While the tug turned around to face Kentucky, I could feel Della tense up–her legs were quivering.
I stroked her neck. “It’s all right, Big Sis.”
After the stern of the tug was secured to the side of the barge, we slowly sailed away from Missouri. That’s when Della began to relax. Soon she was looking up and down the river sightseeing. On her face I saw the same fascination she had for the marching band. But instead of music and twirling majorettes, it was boats in the roiling brown current that enthralled her. Several tugs pushing barges came close because our captain got on the radio and said, “Wait till you see what I’ve got on board.” Then reading from our flyer, he told them about us.
At one point–mid-river–the ferry slowed so a parade of them could pass in front of us. Every one of them blew their horns with all hands on deck waving and shouting. We couldn’t understand them, but it was obvious Della was a hit with the river folk.
For that half hour on the Hickman Ferry, Della was Queen of the Mississippi.
CHAPTER 4
T HE S TATE O F A MERICA I N K ENTUCKY
I N K ENTUCKY, THINGS WERE DIFFERENT . Instead of the plainness of the Delta, there were rolling hills with oaks, elms and hickories–some of which shaded the road. And as we trekked through Kentucky’s farm land, we started seeing a crop that we hadn’t seen before–tobacco. Big green broadleaf plants that were being cut down at ground level with machetes, then hauled to a barn and hung to dry Whether the barns were wood or metal, they all had their doors open so fresh air could circulate through the hanging plants. When the wind was right, we could smell a tobacco barn long before we got to it. It’s a fragrance like no other. Although I’m not a smoker, I’ve always found the aroma of non-burning tobacco pleasing. Especially when it’s in clean country air.
Back in the Delta, we didn’t see many people out in the fields, because crops like corn, soybeans, rice and cotton were planted, cultivated and harvested by machine. In places like Grubbs, Arkansas, and Morehouse, Missouri, people blamed the
Similar Books
