8-10-1961
Of course, no one will understand this except those to whom I confided my fears before we started, concerning mountains. The vision in my mind that had haunted me days and nights after my husband told me firmly that we were making the trip, was the winding roads in Tennessee with sheer precipices and my ears popping and chills running up and down my back.
Ralph was astonished that is should bother me.
"It slants down," he said, "There's nothing sheer about it." "Which means, I suppose," I retorted, "that if your car slipped off the road, you'd be in no trouble at all!"
So you may put me down as a convert. As a matter of fact, I could move to the west with very little persuasion. Because you know something? It is true what I've heard and never before believed. No matter how hot the day, it gets shivery at night - and it cools off fast when the sun goes down.
We could see the mountain, but he couldn't find the road to it, and we gave him a hard time while we sweltered. He was vindicated, however, after miles of wandering around, when he discovered that the sign he always watched for was gone.
But just the same, I wouldn't advise anyone else to accept his invitation to take them to Mt. Spokane. We should have been warned because he had already told us about the time he had escorted bus loads of visiting conventioneers to the mountain and the buses couldn't make one of the last curves. So the women, in their high heels, got out and negotiated the last of the trip on foot while the buses backed down around all those curves to a turning around spot.
So when Ralph wants to show off Spokane, the best thing is to ask to see the formal gardens or his friend's fountain with the colored lights.
We had a wonderful day though. By 7:30 we were eating steaks on the patio - with the city and the mountains spread out before us, and a cool breeze erasing all memory of the heat.
So the grocery stores see more of us than restaurants do. We buy cold meat and salad dressing and lettuce and buns and milk and then we find a picnic area. It is lots more fun than restaurants, besides being cheaper.
I thought my family would tire quickly of cold meat, but they thrive on it. Every time we stop and unload the cooler, they dive in with the same enthusiasm. Of course, we have doughnuts or bananas for dessert.
And two nights in motels with kitchenettes, we had hamburgers.
I think I'll move to the mountains.
They have liked the mountains and were fascinated with the bears and geysers in Yellowstone Park. We couldn't have timed it better to see Old Faithful erupt because we had just gotten the car parked and walked over toward in Inn, when the guide began his dissertation.
Did you know that Old Faithful does not erupt regularly? The time varies from 30 minutes to about 90 minutes between. So now you know.
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8-17-1961
We were on our way to Disneyland and it turned out to be quite a day. It was one of the things we hadn't really expected to do.
We hadn't expected to visit Knott's Berry Farm either, and have a chicken dinner there, and tour the Ghost Town.
And I hadn't supposed that we would actually find the famous Farmer's Market so we could wander around there for miles and miles. (Well, it seemed like miles.)
But we have done all these things since we reached Los Angeles Wednesday evening. Our hosts, the Neil Burns, cousins of my husband, took over as soon as we reached their house, and we have been on the go ever since.
I liked the shops, especially the book shop, but didn't really feel as if I were in the real 'market' until we got to the fruit and vegetable stalls. Those were what I had heard so much about all my life.
It was all so colorful, and gay and beautiful - purple eggplant, oranges, tomatoes, piles of green and purple grapes, avocados, brussel sprouts, artichokes, boxes of huge red strawberries, will - most anything you can think of. All arranged by an artistic hand to entice and delight.
There are butcher shops with the most fantastic array of meats I ever saw - veal, birds, huge pork chops, thick slices of pink ham, rows and rows of chicken legs and chicken breasts, huge steaks and rolled roasts.
"It didn't do us much good," he chuckled, "to get them warm and the girl went back to get us these special."
But I don't believe the tourists go there to buy as much as they just go to look. I might be wrong. People must buy all that stuff or it wouldn't be there, I guess.
But it is still wonderful as it dashes against the craggy rocks way out from the shore, and beats against the cliffs with a grand splashing of salty spray. It roars and carries on in a grand manner and the only thing wrong, was that I didn't see enough of it.
In Los Angeles, as in Chicago, we drive miles and miles before we get where we want to go. Even going grocery shopping is an adventure!
Knott's Berry Farm is a huge place with more things to see than I ever dreamed and I could go back there tomorrow to see everything I missed in Ghost Town.
Dale had the most fun on the cars where he did his own driving and he even talked me into riding with him. I got along fine until a wicked gleam lighted his eyes, and he deliberately bounced the car from one curb to the other while I screamed but didn't dare harm him. If he had been out of commission, we might still be there, stranded on the auto course.
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8-24-1961
This he did, finally, Tuesday morning, expecting at any minute, I think, to have a hand of authority laid on his shoulder. But when he met the girls and me on the beach, his grin was as broad as I'd ever seen it and we got out of Coronado in a hurry.
Oh yes - there were the animals, too!
Dean was the one who entertained us while Bonnie sailed around making coffee and kool aid and finding the Manson Journal so we could see what an excellent job the office force had been doing in Lloyd's absence.
"I'm Dean," he told us solemnly, "and he's Johnny," he said pointing to his brother. Of course, you're always supposed to ask children how old they are so we did, and he was prompt with the information.
"I'm this many," he said, holding up three chubby fingers. "I'm this many and Mary is this many." He had a little difficulty with his fingers, but got two disposed of, which left one for Mary's age. And Johnny was five so we got that all taken care of.
So we introduced ourselves, leaving out our ages, and Lloyd asked them if he knew anybody by the name of Mr. and Mrs. Scoles. They did know and were delighted that we knew their grandparents.
Bonnie told them we were from Manson. This was no news to Dean.
"I already knew that," he told her with dignity, "I saw their license plates."
Bonnie explained that playing civil war was the thing in their neighborhood, and the children had a great time at it, except that, everyone wanted to be Yankees and be on the winning side. My husband, however, was relieved to hear that they also still played cowboy once in a while.
"These are my 'hang cups'," he informed us solemnly. "Here's my 'hang cups' and this is my captain's hat. I'm a captain."
"You're not a captain," howled Johnny from the doorway. "You're a major." Dean turned a bit on his chair and surveyed his brother with calm deliberation. "I am not a major. I'm a captain."
"A major's higher," said Johnny loftily.
"It's not higher. I don't want to be higher," He turned around and smiled at us from under the hat. "I'm not higher. I'm getting bigger, but I'm still a captain."
And that settled that.
We didn't drive across the border into Mexico, which was one thing Martha and Becky wanted to do. But Margaret took them to Hollywood this morning and let them prowl around Grauman's theater, where all the footprints and hand prints are, so that helped ease their pain.
I didn't go. I stayed at the house and washed my hair. You have to stop and breathe some time.
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8-31-1961
So it took us a while to get here - especially when we also had to stop to eat, sleep, and visit filling stations. Steve said he never in all his time in California had taken so long to come the same distance.
Steve driving and my husband had his first chance on the trip to look around and down - far down - and thoroughly enjoy the scenery.
He kept saying, "Look down there! Look at that! There's a view for you!"
And I kept my eyes straight ahead, occasionally muttering, "Don't you look, Steve," and Steve would grin wickedly and look.
If I hadn't kept my eyes on the road and leaned constantly away from the depths below, we might never have made it. My husband said later that it was just a good thing that that trail ridge was the last mountain of the trip instead of the first as far as I was concerned.
I thought Utah was beautiful. I never tired of watching the miles of sagebrush and sand, with the background of rolling red hills and steep jagged cliffs against the black mountains on the horizon. And over all were the blue, blue sky and the white, white clouds. It was fascinating, and one of the most interesting and coolest drives of the trip was the Strawberry Pass out of Provo.
It was going to be hot, everyone said so, and dreary. We were going to be so miserable we could die by the time we reached Las Vegas - if we lived until we got there!
I tell you, I was getting ready to be nervous by the time we left. But I kept remembering the stretches of Florida and Georgia heat we had driven through last summer, and I figured we could manage a little old desert. Besides, anyone who has South Dakota hot winds, and Iowa humidity in his past, has been prepared for anything.
Besides, hadn"t we driven through eastern Washington where it was 101 degrees at Moses Lake, without mishap?
And by the time we got to Redlands, California, it was hot. It was really hot. So we knew that everyone knew what he was talking about because we weren't even in the desert yet.
So, we got the air cooler installed in the car there. Neil had given it to us. He said it wasn't worth a nickel but we could sure have it, because he would never use it again.
I sat happily by the pool in a comfortable chair talking to Martian, completely forgetting that I was an ordinary housewife who had never before been that close to a private pool. I forgot so long that I got a bad sunburn before I retired to the recreation room off the pool, out of the sun.
Becky was almost as fascinated with the house as the swimming pool, because it had an elevator in it. She and Martha popped into the elevator the minute they saw it, and rode up and down in style, while I stood by in a panic, not sure I'd ever see them again.
Well - back to the desert.
So we enjoyed the desert except up the hills when the water in the radiator seemed to be too boily. I was surprised at the desert, too. I expected it to be rolling sand and nothing else. But there was lots of vegetation everywhere, mostly cactus, of course, but interesting because it was new to us. Steve said we had to get farther south into Arizona to see the desert I had in mind.
I still think eastern Washington was the warmest journey. As I said, it was 101 degrees at Moses Lake, but Seattle was a cool, beautiful 79 when we arrived at 4:30 that Thursday.
It was a good thing, too.
It took us from 4:30 p. m. to seven or so to get us from the eastern outskirts of Seattle to my sister's home in Everett just a few miles north. We hit the after work rush hour and managed to get off the highway besides, so we had quite a time.
That library was exactly the reverse of the quiet, dark cavernous libraries of the past. It was huge and sparkling with light and color, and so wonderfully arranged that we could find in a minute any department we wanted.
Of course, our Manson library has proved, in this area, that libraries do not have to be dark and gloomy to be successful.
What with washing and ironing and cooking and cleaning and doing dishes, since Tuesday morning, with all six of our children at home, I feel like Myrna Dalton. She said she walked in the door of her house when she returned from her vacation and hadn't sat down since!!
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