The Christmas That Almost Wasn't...

And a Happy New Year!

The greeting cards have all been sent; the Christmas rush is through, and as we settle in to enjoy the holiday with our loved ones that one time of year when hopefully, all roads truly do lead us all home, we thought back how much Christmas celebrations and traditions have morphed and changed over the years. With a smile and a nod to the Carpenters, who turned Christmas into a verb with the 1978 release of what would become a Christmas classic, Merry Christmas, Darling - (I'm Christmasing with you....) let's journey back to a time when Christmas almost wasn't.

As any good American school child knows, most early European emigrants traveled to what would later become the United States from Western European nations. For various political and religious reasons, some adherents to particular religions, especially Irish, Scottish, and some British may have kept their customs quietly at home rather than disrupt life in the new Colonies.

In what would become Virginia, Captain John Smith and company, you will remember from stories of that first Thanksgiving, were mostly followers of the Church of England and observed Christmas much as they had always done -- good food, good company.

God Bless Us, Everyone

But to the north where settlers would eventually found Massachusetts, the travelers from the Mayflower observed their first Christmas a few short weeks after arriving and had no time to celebrate -- not if they wanted to survive. They were still living aboard the the ship and not yet erected a shelter.

When we look back on history, we remember it often in general terms. We remember Pilgrims who came looking for religious freedom. True. To a certain extent...and from a certain point of view.

Mayflower- 1620

Once the Mayflower folks were able to establish themselves with shelter and other necessities of life, the 41 religious dissidents, as it were, who had fled England and the Netherlands (17 men, 10 women, 14 children) in search of freedom to worship were outnumbered by 61 other passengers - Pilgrims, servants and others. These Pilgrims were looking for a new life in a new world, a purer life, hence Puritan.

Streets of Joy!

Ah, but there was trouble in this new paradise, even at Christmas. As some in the newborn colony excused themselves from work to celebrate the day on that second Christmas in new world, the governor, William Bradford, took exception. It seemed he did have a problem with their Christmas celebrations. They could, he explained, keep Christmas at home as a matter of devotion. There was to be no visible signs of celebration -- certainly no joy, no playing of children in the streets while others went solemnly to work. It went against his conscience, his Puritan work ethic, that they should play while others worked.

It reminds us of that (terrible) saying that seems so popular today: If momma ain't happy - ain't nobody happy. Or Happy Spouse - Happy House. Perhaps I am judging the poor governor by modern eyes,  but I see him as a spoiled child who has to clean his room and he cries that it's not fair as he watches the other children run out to play.

For a country that was founded on religious freedom (not freedom from religion, we remind folks from time to time), it seems frighteningly ironic that we almost lost that very freedom within a year or so of our very establishment. And all over wanting to celebrate the birth of our Savior. Can you imagine this country, this time of year, without Christmas, without the carols, without the tree-lighting ceremonies, without all the tiny little reminders of why we are celebrating in the first place?

So, this Christmas, celebrate with all your spirit! Let the world see you love and cheer! And William Bradford, wherever you are, we're taking my celebration to the street! Unless it rains.

Silent Night

Expect the Unexpected...

There are times when we may want to go out and simply stare up into the skies -- to regenerate, and marvel at the heavens. The universe is a pretty big place, but looking skyward from a city is sometimes a little disheartening. Too many city lights often block out the millions of stars staring back at us.

There's lots of action going on up there

A dark sky locale is generally called for. No distractions from artificial lights -  just out there in the peace and quiet of the night. Oh, and did I mention really dark?

Such a place is Pisgah Crater. 

 

Pisgah Crater is located in the Basin and Range Province, in the Lavic Lake volcanic field – which means, there’s a lot of ancient lava flows covering the desert floor near the crater. These flows span for many square miles, and in fact, can be easily seen from Interstate 40 or historic Route 66, at about the halfway point between the city of Needles (hometown of Spike, cousin of Snoopy), and Victorville, California, not far from where we make our home. 

Pisgah crater - viewed from the north 

Geologists believe Pisgah may have last erupted somewhere between 20,000 to 50,000 years ago, but there are disagreements about the exact date, even among the experts. Some argue that it may have erupted as little as 2,000 years ago. But, since the Amboy Crater, 54 miles to the east of Pisgah, last erupted about 18,000 years ago, it would make sense that Pisgah probably emptied its magma holdings around the same time. It’s much like how one earthquake can trigger a nearby fault causing a neighboring quake – one close volcanic eruption, can begin another volcanic eruption.

The Pisgah cone once stood at 2,638 feet, but now measures 93 feet shorter, at 2,545 feet. This reduction in height was caused in part by some natural weathering, but also by the impact of mining. It is privately owned by the Can-Cal Resources Limited, a Canadian company which mined the crater for railroad ballast for the Santa Fe Railroad. It appears that mining has not occurred for a few years from the lack of any structures or mining equipment on site.

Though it is private property, easy access proves a boon to many colleges and universities for weekend geology classes. Also, it seems the area has been used in films, music videos, commercials and much more.

The point being: when traveling, always expect the unexpected. 

Approaching the almost totally black volcanic cone one late afternoon, I noticed a number of semi-trucks and trailers parked on a large flat section on the west side of the cone. Suddenly, a helicopter buzzed above and made a daring swoop to the ground and then simply posed in mid-air. Hanging like a hummingbird looking for a feeder.

Why are these trailers on 'my' crater?

“What is going on?” I asked.

Truly, what is going on here?

“A helicopter is hovering,” Paul Bakas replied, my old friend who travels with me when my lovely spouse, Laureen, can’t make the trip. “Now, I think it’s backing up.”

The pilot was outstanding - swooping here and there - feet above the crowds

As we drove up the winding road to the flat surface of Pisgah, we knew instantly that this night was not going to be one of the dark nights, so desired for stargazing.

On the west side of the crater, dozens and dozens of people were milling around, dressed perhaps as aliens, or natives from another time. Skin colored body suits with black stripes over their arms and faces. Some wore outlandishly colored masks.

One woman we met named Lola, informed us she was an extra in a Latin rock video and her job was to walk toward the band as they were playing near the precipice of the volcano. As if the extras were being drawn to the sound like magic.

That sounded very musicesque (I made that term up). The band was there, performing on stage, but no music could be heard. Perhaps, a huge helicopter swooping here and there over the set filming, may have been the reason.

When asked the name of the band, Lola simply replied “I don’t know,” as she walked away in her body suit and painted face, towards the other extras.

Lola - the photo was posed - those actors!

Paul wandered around. He tried asking a limo driver, a food truck owner, anyone who could find, if they knew the band’s name.

“All I got was a Latin rock band,” he told me. “Weird, I asked twelve people.”

“A non-disclosure agreement for everyone?” I asked.

“I’m not a lawyer,” he responded. “But I think you just made that up.”

We watched, after setting up camp, as the actors marched down the hill toward the band and then back up the hill for another take.

Well, not only was the music blacked out, but so was the sky from the stage lighting. Not what we expected for a dark sky night looking at stars. But sitting in camping chairs and watching the action was pretty entertaining.

Always have a plan ‘B’, when plan ‘A’ doesn’t work out. No star gazing perhaps, but the next morning, hiking around the crater proved to be an almost surreal experience. Black sand beneath our boots seemed as though we were walking on another planet.

When time allows, send home a message to a loved one - that would be Laureen

Lava tubes opened up in front of us to be explored (note of caution though, these ancient tunnels where lava once flowed can be dangerous – extreme attention must be stressed).

Lava tubes, deep and long - caution is desired for falling rocks

Pisgah crater is a place to be visited – it’s even a great area to fly a kite. I did, why not?

Go fly a kite! Really, just fly a kite - it's fun.

The Real Bagdad Café

In the late nineteen eighties, Newberry Springs (a small town in the Mojave Desert in Southern California) was the scene for a meeting of the minds, between Hollywood and a German film crew. They met to discuss the filming of a rather eccentric movie, the Bagdad Café.

A must see film!

One problem though, there was no Bagdad Café in Newberry Springs.

No worries - we didn't either, at the time.

There once was a town of Bagdad, with a cafe, about fifty miles east of Newberry Springs. But when Interstate 40 made Route 66 seem like an afterthought, the town, like the desert sands, just blew away. Not enough business to maintain its lifeblood, it just stopped breathing.

There’s nothing left today to prove Bagdad once truly existed, but a beautiful tree with a plaque that reads - This tree is the last fragile remnant of the town of Bagdad. Please help us protect it by leaving it undisturbed. Thank You!

A beautiful reminder of once was - before progress came to town

Hollywood, with the German screenwriters and director, didn’t let those facts stop them. They just renamed the Sidewinder Café in Newberry Springs to, yes, wait for it – the Bagdad Café. And that is the magic of Hollywood.

We don’t need no stinking reality – we’ll just make up our own.

So, on a Sunday morning, we decided to take the short drive to Newberry Springs and check out the Bagdad Café. After the release of the film in 1987 in Europe, and in 1988 in the United States, the name of the Sidewinder Café was eventually changed to the Bagdad Café in 1995.

 A sound marketing tool, to incorporate the name of a film which used the restaurant for its focal point. The film, starring the likes of C.C.H Pounder, Jack Palance, Christine Kauffman, and German actress, Marianne Sagebrecht, won 6 foreign film awards, including Best Foreign Film at the 23rd Guldbagge Awards in 1988. In 1988, the film won an Oscar for Best Music, Original song by Bob Telson, Calling You.

Heck, even Hollywood came out with a television series, Bagdad Café in 1990, starring James Gammon, Whoopi Goldberg, Cleavon Little, and Jean Stapleton. After two seasons it went bust. A good film, not so good a series, perhaps – it happens.

Sorry, Ladies - a short but good try.

“This will be great,” I told Laureen, as we took the eastbound Newberry Springs exit from the 40 and drove onto Route 66.

“It’s an old café,” she replied.

“It’s historic. A place where two cultures, Germans and Americans met and created something special. I call it, where Hollywood and Berliwood shook hands.”

“Berliwood?”

“You know, Berlin.” I nodded. “Yeah, like Bollywood, but from a German perspective.”

“That makes sense,” Laureen mused. But, I don’t think she bought my conjecture on the topic.

We pulled in front of the red painted building with brown wood shingles on the roof. Laureen was right, it was old and bit worse for wear.

“Look at that,” I said, while pointing to a large black and white tour bus. There in front of us were dozens of people taking selfies by the entrance to the Bagdad Café and others just walking around looking this iconic building up and down.

“French,” I announced excitedly. “They’re French tourists.”

Laureen nodded in agreement. “Did you get that from the French they are all speaking?”

“Dead giveaway,” I returned.

The restaurant is open daily from 7 a.m. until 7 p.m., and according to the owner, Andrea Pruett (she goes by André), “We get so many tourists, and it is really crowded sometimes. You know, we are the most visited café in the world.”

I wasn’t sure that was accurate, but in deference to the owner, I remained mute on the topic. Though, this café must be the most visited in the area.

Entering through the single door of the café, we were taken aback by the hundreds, if not thousands of flags hanging from the ceiling. It seemed every country on earth was represented inside the Bagdad Café.

Can you count the flags - we couldn't

“See what I mean?” André stated. “Most tourists are French; they loved the movie. But there are flags from Germany, Spain, and pretty much everywhere.”

I asked André, how many tourist buses stop by. “Oh, I don’t know – probably five or six per week. Most of the time, they just stop, take photographs and leave. They don’t spend a lot of money here. But we do have good food.”

André has owned the small local tourist attraction for 23 years, moving from Canoga Park to Newberry Springs with her husband. “It was quite a culture shock,” stated the petite woman. “The people called me, Hollywood, because I came from the Los Angeles area. My husband told me to enjoy the quite of Newberry Springs where I could just write. He’d run the restaurant, and my job was simply to come in once per day to collect the money.”

Seemed reasonable. The problem was, according to André, “There never was much to collect each day. It’s gotten better though, with the tourists – still wish they’d spend more.”

We had lunch and visited with André, between her greeting the numerous tourists. She was correct on both counts – the food was tasty and there were a lot of people stopping by the historic site.

Laureen, waiting for our lunch at the Bagdad Cafe'

This place, this Bagdad Café, is a must to see for any film buff. Not just the history of the building, but the impact it made in the cinema world joining the realms of cult classics. A place most have never hear of, but which made it into the stratosphere of filmology (yes, it is real – the study of film making – taken from, filmologie – and of course, it’s French!). So take a short byway off the road most traveled and find yourself something of international intrigue, on Route 66.

In Search of Ernest Hemingway

One of John's most respected writers is Ernest Hemingway. The iconic writer led a larger than life existence. This sometimes raucous man seemingly had it all: fame and fortune. Hemingway experienced numerous lifetimes all wrapped up in one.

'Papa' Hemingway's framed photograph in his Key West home.

'Every man's life ends the same way. It is only the details of how he lived and how he died that distinguish one man from another.' Ernest Hemingway

The quotation above embodies the life of this writer - all lives end in death, but sometimes the way a person dies, does make them different from others. Hemingway proved that by choosing the manner of death, committing suicide on July 2nd, 1961 in Ketchum, Idaho.

Traveling the Florida Keys, allowed John and Laureen, to truly slow down and discover many things they had no idea existed. It's a laid back sort of lifestyle - the Keys. Beaches everywhere, bars and restaurants located alongside Highway 1, and the residents very friendly.

So, how does this driving end up with a blog on Ernest Hemingway? Well, it isn't really about him, but the influence he had in Key West, during the nine years he lived there full-time. Attention-getting was not something Hemingway had to work at, but attention was certainly something he got. As one of the world's best known writers, both short stories and novels, wherever he went, news soon followed.

As we drove through the city/key of Islamorada, we noticed a beautifully appointed Bass Pro Shop, located on the Overseas Highway (a fancy title for the 113 mile road, also known as Highway 1). Being fans of the chain (strange since neither of us have any interest in fishing), we stopped and ventured inside to have a look-see.

There, in the center of this huge outdoor sports supply mecca, stood a thirty-eight foot trawler with the name Pilar boldly emblazoned on it's hull. John instantly got goosebumps. It couldn't be...could it?

Looks like the Pilar!

Was this the Pilar, that Hemingway had built for his time in Key West? Turns out it wasn't, but a cleverly created duplicate (sister-ship), built at the same place and same boatyard as the true Pilar -  now located in a museum in Cuba. This boat is almost identical to the one Hemingway had owned - down to the same exact model typewriter the writer had used for most of his prose in the southern most city in the United States.

John at the keys of Hemingway's typewriter? In the Keys.

Not disappointed at all that this wasn't the exact boat, no, in fact, it only made John that more fired up to get to Key West and tour the house and haunts that Hemingway lived and visited.

Well, Laureen wasn't in that much of a hurry -
relax a bit on the veranda and then hit the road. Island Time.

Key West, is to Florida what New Orleans is to Louisiana, an eclectic group of stores, bars, restaurants, residences and residents. As mentioned in the previous blog, In Search of Jimmy Buffet, Key West is a must-see destination. It is crazy fun, with so much to see in the narrow streets bordered by the Atlantic and the Gulf of Mexico.

Hemingway thought so too when he moved with his wife, Pauline, and their newborn son, Patrick. It was here in Key West that the author found his true success in writing, knocking out nearly 70% of all his combined works. A Farewell to Arms, Death in the Afternoon, and Green Hills of Africa to name just a few of the great works he tapped out during his Key West Days. In fact, Hemingway was probably, according to research, one of the first American novelists to have his work appear on the silver screen. At least eleven of his novels and short stories were turned into block bluster films.

His own life was an ongoing film. Married four times, wounded in World War I as an ambulance driver, he had traveled the world and even lived in Paris with the likes of James Joyce, Pablo Picasso, Gertrude Stein, and the Fitzgeralds. He embarked on lengthy deep sea fishing and explorations of the Caribbean aboard the Pilar, went on Safari into Africa, wrote about bull runs in Spain. He was a reporter during the Spanish Civil War, and during World War II, earned the Bronze Star for his  journalistic work. Rumors and myths are still alive today, that Hemingway informally led a small platoon of soldiers at the retaking of Paris from the Nazis. He wasn't supposed to do that, being simply a journalist, but that couldn't stop Papa Hemingway. Adventure was in his blood - a few German soldiers were not likely to scare this man.

He won the Pulitzer Prize in 1952 and the Noble Prize in 1954. He did it all.

The house which the Hemingway family called home, is located at 907 Whitehead Street, a quaint and beautifully quiet section of Key West, just blocks from the sea which the writer loved so much. The white and black, two story abode rests comfortably on nearly an acre of land - the largest privately owned residential property on the island.

John, standing at the entrance to the Hemingway house

The house is stately, but not overly flashy. A place where the writer and his family would be comfortable and afford Hemingway a hidden oasis to write. His fame, and his drinking in town, especially at Sloppy Joe's, caused Hemingway to choose to have a tall wall built around the home. People would often just walk up to the front door to see Hemingway at all hours of the day or night. He needed his privacy.

How Hemingway looked while living in Key West

Office where Hemingway wrote

One truly interesting item about the house is the number of cats roaming freely. You'd think Hemingway, being muy macho and all that, would have a love for large beastly dogs. Nope. He liked cats - and they are everywhere about the home. He had been given a six toed feline when they first moved to Key West from a ship's captain. This first polydactyl (six-toed) feline was named Snowball - and all of Snowball's descendants, nearly 50 of them, still reside around the property.  There's even a kitty cemetery on the grounds.

Cats own the house and the master bed

When Hemingway had returned home from covering the Spanish Civil War, he found that Pauline had torn down his beloved rear yard boxing ring. In its place was the largest privately owned pool south of Miami.

It seemed, Pauline had learned that her husband had taken up with her friend, Martha Gellhorn during the Spanish Civil War, where Martha was also working as a journalist. So, as payback, Pauline had Ernest's boxing ring torn down and a pool put in.

The largest pool in the Florida Keys - of course

Not to be outdone, Hemingway got drunk at Sloppy Joe's, which was being remodeled and dragged a urinal all the way home in the dead of night. When Pauline saw it in the back yard, she asked what it was. He told her, "You have your pool, and now I have my own."

The urinal pool - laying sideways

The couple didn't last long after that, which was truly the way Hemingway's marriages usually went. Get married and get divorced. Interesting, he tended to marry the women who were introduced to him by his current wife at the time.

His first spouse, Hadley introduced Pauline to Ernest - soon there was an affair and a divorce. Pauline, his second spouse, introduced Martha to Ernest, soon there was an affair and a divorce. Martha, his third spouse, introduced Mary to Ernest, soon there was an affair but this time no divorce. Mary made sure not to introduce any of her female friends to Ernest - safer that way.

"I don't mind Ernest falling in love," Pauline once wrote, "but why does he always have to marry the girl when he does?"

So, the search for Ernest Hemingway in Key West was complete. We learned a lot more about the author than what was available simply in material research. We walked where he walked. We had a drink or two at his favorite watering hole, and learned why he had moved to Key West in the first place.

Key West is an Ernest Hemingway mecca for millions of his fans. His influence can be seen and felt throughout the city. There's even an annual Hemingway Days each July - many white-bearded gentlemen (not Santa) arrive, trying to look like the writer himself.

He  moved from Key West to Cuba in 1939, when he married Martha. He'd spent only nine years in the keys, but left an indelible mark nearly a hundred years later.

Though Ernest Hemingway was larger than life, in many ways, he was still simply a man. At the end, he was suffering from severe depression, the inability to write, and overall tiredness from an excess of adventures. Severely wounded during World War I, continual pain from two plane crashes, liver issues (hmmm, wonder why), weight issues, and other maladies collected, over a lifetime of abuse - both mentally and physically.

He lived life on his own terms, and on that summer morning in Ketchum, Idaho - he decided to go out on his own terms, as well.

As a tour guide stated at the Hemingway house - "We can't judge him for committing suicide. It was his choice, as was his entire life. He decided how and when the whole adventure would be over."

We may not agree - but then again, it's okay to agree to disagree.

For further information:

 https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Ernest_Hemingway

https://www.hemingwayhome.com/

https://fla-keys.com/hemingway-days/

In Search of Jimmy Buffet

We'll find you, Mr. Jimmy Buffet - in Key West

One of John's dreams has always been to explore the Florida Keys. In the United States, keys are  spelled and pronounced keys whereas in many other parts of the world, such as the Bahamas or Turks and Caicos, these areas of land are spelled cays. Still pronounced keys, they are sandy, low-elevation islands poised on top of a coral reef.

In other words, Paradise.

There was such adventure awaiting this dynamic duo, once the plane landed on the tarmac at Miami International Airport.

Laureen at the Southernmost point
 on the Continental USA

First stop, pick up the rental Jeep Wrangler Unlimited. What else could two explorers select as their means of transportation while driving south over a hundred sixty miles to the most southern tip of the United States?  It was the second week of September - yes, mid-hurricane season in this part of the world - so, having the correct vehicle seemed wise.

The trip may have been cancelled if it had been planned for just a week earlier. That was when the powerful Hurricane Dorian, tore through the Bahamas, leaving behind unspeakable devastation and death. Luckily for the people of Florida, Dorian had turned north-east and only skirted the outer shores of the United States.

With that said, the people of the Bahamas remained in our hearts and prayers as we drove south in search of Jimmy Buffet, the poet, song-writer (and extremely wealthy businessman).

Of course we knew that Jimmy would not be sitting down with a couple of margaritas on a sandy beach on the Gulf of Mexico with us - but in search we went anyway.

Buffet and Key West are synonymous for being unique and resilient. Walking down Duval Street, the main thoroughfare in old Key West, only enhances the wonderful strangeness of the place. There are bars and more bars, stores selling anything and everything, Tarot card readers, and even a brothel, about which the locals only smile and shrug when asked. This part of Key West is about as eclectic  as Jimmy Buffet's songs are.

Duval Street in the evening in Key West

Key West was once a lonely outpost, accessible only by boat. But through time, a railroad was built, only to be quickly destroyed (due to a hurricane - what else?). Finally a road was constructed which linked all the keys heading southwest from Miami to Key West. Soon, the likes of Hemingway, Capote, President Truman, President John F. Kennedy introduced the keys to the rest of the world.

Key West had made it.

Some strangely beautiful people in Key West...

As with Key West, Buffet had also seen times when he wasn't Jimmy Buffet, but simply Jimmy Buffet, a down-on-his-luck singer from Nashville. He had tried his musical talent in that famous, Tennessee city, but after awhile, and with no money in his pockets - plus a divorce - he headed south.

South, would be traveling with his friends Jerry Jeff Walker (of Mr. Bojangles, fame) and Teresa "Murphy" Clark. Jerry and Teresa allowed Jimmy to stay with them at their house in Coconut Grove in Miami.

But soon, restlessness moved Jimmy further south to Key West. He knew, that perhaps this strangely beautiful area, and it's equally strangely beautiful people would understand his music and lyrics.

Nashville hadn't - so what did he have to lose?

In the early 1970's he lived in a little apartment next to a place called, Louie's Backyard, a bar and restaurant.

We visited the place, had a beer or two while looking over the ocean and didn't realize where we were actually sitting. Then we heard the bartender - we like bartenders - telling a story when a certain song came out and people started visiting the bar and 'stealing' items. Anything, so they could tell their friends, they had some memorabilia linked to Jimmy Buffet.

In 1974, Jimmy's album, Trying To Reason With Hurricane Season, talked about Louie's Backyard.

'God, I slept way past noon, Stood up and tried to focus, I hoped I wouldn't have to look far, I knew I could use a Bloody Mary, So I stumbled next door to the bar.'

"I actually had to chase two guys down the beach who stole a full size lounge chair." she told us.

"Why not the whole bar?"

"It was too heavy and bolted to the floor, I guess," she replied.

First place Jimmy Buffet played in Key West - for beers only!

Soon after arriving in Key West, Jimmy found himself playing in a very small club called the Chart Room at the Pier House Motel.

He played for beers. Wow! For beers - the guy is worth over a half-a-billion dollars now. Gotta love the opportunities the good old United States offers a down and out singer from the 70's.

Along with Jim Croce, Vaughn Cochran, and others, Jimmy hit his stride and the rest is history for this musical icon.

Changes in Latitudes, Changes in Attitudes, his 6th album released in 1977, made it into mainstream audiences and his career took off.

But, unlike many up and coming musical artists - Jimmy was business savvy. He began marketing islander styled clothing, posters, and then opened his first Margaritaville in Key West.

Laureen, pointing out where Margaritville started in Key West

From there, the money kept pouring in - but he never forgot his roots.

In 1985, his album Last Mango in Paris, hit the charts and one song spoke (he's a poet and he knows it) about Captain Tony's Saloon on Green Street.

John in front of - hmmm, a bar - very strange

'I went down to Captain Tony's, To get out of the heat, Then I heard a voice call out to me, "Son come have a seat", I had to search my memory, As I looked into those eyes, Our lives change like the weather, But a legend never dies.'

Even though Jimmy moved to Palm Beach around 1992, he kept his house in Key West until 1998, when he sold it for over a million dollars. He was a smart guy with the bucks!

So, we found the early Jimmy Buffet in Key West - walking the streets and alleys of this town let us realize the draw it had on a young singer. It has the same appeal to these travelers. A place where a person can be who they are - challenge themselves - and prove they have the grit to succeed with their dreams no matter the setbacks.

Jimmy Buffet, along with many others, have made this key their home and not only found themselves, but their fortunes as well.

If it wasn't for the bloody hurricanes and humidity!

Our search was over - on to the next one.

Who's next on the list to search for in the Florida Keys?

Two Rivers Run Near-By

On a recent trip to Meridian, Idaho, to visit daughter Kelly, and son-in-law Travis,  our buddy and trusty cameraman, Paul Bakas came along for the ride. Well, from our humble abode, the ride was a little over 13 hours, non-stop. Laureen could not make this particular trip, due to conflicts in her work schedule, so it was up to the two boys this trip.

"Are you're sure that you both can go and not get into trouble?" she asked, a week before our departure.

I recalled, being in Pamplona, Spain, during the annual bull run, many years earlier, made famous by the great American author, Ernest Hemingway, and that hadn't worked out for the best. No I didn't get gored, but I'll never forget the breath of one bull running a lot faster than I was. I jumped over a short fence to safety. The man in front of me - well, one horn taught him a lesson.

"We won't get in trouble," I reassured Laureen.

And, we did not. The drive from Victorville to Meridian (a city nestled next door to Boise) was an easy one. Long, but easy.

This was not just a chance to visit with  Kelly and Travis, but we were to partake in two separate river excursions. Running the white water of the Payette River, with an experienced guide and then the next day, floating the calm and easy Boise River in an inner-tube.

The Crew: Kelly, John, Travis, and Paul taking the photo

Running the Payette River, is never to be taken for granted. Helmets, life vest, paddles, and a strict lecture, given by our guide, Lee MacDonald Pownau, to whom we nearly had to swear our souls.

"Where does rafting happen?" drill sergeant Lee asked.

"In the river," Paul replied.

The look Paul received from Lee was unnerving. I turned my head away. "It begins and ends in the raft. Without the raft, there is no rafting."

Captain Ahab - no, Captain Lee 

Actually, I was thinking, if there was no river, there wouldn't be the need of a raft. I remained silent, afraid my helmet, life vest, and soul would be lost to the churning waters upon which we were about to embark, if I disagreed with Lee.

We pushed off, and immediately took to the river like fish running for their lives. The next few hours reminded me of the time when I was a law enforcement officer. Most of the time, it was just a job taking reports, but - and this is a big but - there was about 5 to 10 percent of the time, it was stark raving crazy.

The raft behind us - the river can be tricky

"Paddle forward," Lee barked, and I wondered what the big deal was. Well, going over a six foot waterfall of bone crushing water was a big deal. The five of us, on our raft, paddled like people being chased by demons.

A rather relaxed section of the Payette at this time

According to Lee, the Payette was actually down quite a few feet from it's high mark in mid-June. That's when things can get dicey. It was dicey enough, and when we came ashore near the town of  Lowman we were all tired from paddling and looking for holes in the river (a term for river runners that would conjure doom).

Lowman is a very small settlement, situated in the mountains, about two hours north-east of Boise.

The owners of the Payette River Company, Sean and Ginger Glaccum, have a wonderful business, that not only allows people to raft along the Payette, but have experienced guides, who also know the history of the region.

With Lee, there was so much to learn, and he didn't scrimp on sharing his knowledge.

It was great river run: some scary rapids and some nice long runs, along placid clear blue water, allowing us to chit and chat. What more could one ask for?

The next day, it was off to the near-by river, the Boise, for the annual float enjoyed by locals and tourists alike. Very different from the previous day: no one was hanging on for dear life, hurtling down white water waterfalls. No, this was to be enjoyed by all ages.

The difference was surreal.

Floating down the Boise does not require lectures from expert white water guides. It's about having fun on a sunny day with family and friends. Utilizing inner tubes, flip-flops, and water proof cameras  is all that is required. The ride starts near a pub knocking back a couple of cold ones. We started off at Payette Brewing, just a few steps from the Boise River. A couple of toasts and then a short walk across the river to a waiting bus. A few bucks, and the bus dropped us off at the start of the float fifteen minutes later.

From there, it was simply laughing, laughing and laughing some more. No huge waterfalls - though, there are a few sections of speedy water, and a person could get tossed from their floaty if they aren't observant.

Kelly looks like she's struggling on the river, not!
 Looks more like a model.

Travis is wondering, why his beer hasn't been delivered. 

Paul, struggling through the treacherous waters of the Boise River
 - hang on Dude!

The city of Boise, only allows a certain time to float the Boise, due to weather conditions. When Laureen and I were there in early June, rafting wasn't allowed. The water was running too quickly and far too cold.

July and August are the months to enjoy, stretching out on an inner tube, or raft and enjoying the peaceful serenity of the currents.

The end of the trip winds up where we started, across from Payette Brewing and how perfect is that? Start with a brew and end with a brew.

Life couldn't, in this writer's opinion, be better than that.

When in Idaho, explore the rivers - and if there's enough courage - run one.

Love the water and the water will love you.

Photographs by: John R. Beyer and Paul K. Bakas

Randsburg - A Lively Ghost Town

The main street was deserted – eerily deserted. Early in the morning, a summer warming the air, with the sun just breaking over the eastern hills, but there was not a soul around.

That is a deserted main street

       “It’s like a ghost town,” I stated. While looking around the small town of Randsburg, approximately 70 miles north-west of Victorville, just off of Highway 395.

        “Well, it is a living ghost town,” said Nikki Goldfinch, a local resident stated, as she sat in her OHV in the center of town. Since, Nikki was the only person I had seen that morning in the downtown area, I flagged her down to ask a few questions about Randsburg.

      Actually, I hadn’t flagged her down like I was in mortal danger, but gave more of a simple wave and a smile. She was nice enough to stop and talk about her community with this stranger standing in the middle of the main street.

John interviewing Nikki in Randsburg

      Nikki and her husband Bill have lived in the mining town for about 3 ½ years and love it. “I wouldn’t live anywhere else but here.”

      “There’s no one about,” I observed.

      She nodded. “That’s the point – there’s no one about.”

      According to the 2010 census, Randsburg had 69 residents, but according to Nikki, there are really about 40 full time people living the mining community. “The rest come up on weekends or vacations to ride their dirt toys in the desert or do a little mining on their property.”

      “Does the town ever get crowded?” I asked.

      “It sure does,” was Nikki’s response.

Randsburg is popular with OHV riders - or Main Street riders for that matter

      Tourism is a huge business for the town, located a mile off the main thoroughfare, Highway 395, on the way to destinations like Mammoth and Lake Tahoe. The local restaurants, the Black Horse Tavern, the General Store, and the Owl Café, see multitudes of visitors during the weekends and special holiday events.

The 'Joint' - a fine eatery in town

    

Come and sit for a spell

 “We have a parade of lights for Christmas,” Nikki told me. “It was great – all these off-road toys lit up like Christmas trees. The whole town is decorated, starting near Thanksgiving. It’s just beautiful and interesting how people decorate the place.”

      The founding of Randsburg is interesting in itself, and almost happened by pure luck. Three miners, who had spent time in Death Valley, and other desert locals had come up with little for all their hard work in the mines. But then they stumbled into the hills surrounding present day Randsburg and discovered gold –  lots of it. The strike occurred in 1895 and by the end of 1896, the three had pulled out over $250,000 in rich ore. According to some official accounts, over 25 million dollars’ worth of gold has been dug out of the ground around Randsburg.

      Originally, the town was called Rand Camp and the first mine, Rand Mine, were both named after a rich gold mining area in South Africa. The name was later changed to Randsburg.

      Obviously, as with all gold finds, Rand Camp sprung up with saloons, brothels, and gambling halls, to entertain the hordes of miners rushing in to seek their fortunes. Where there is money to be found – vice is not far behind.

Aye - we all need good luck! When hunting for the gold.

Or, perhaps a healthy diet

      Thus the term, gold rush. The miners were actually rushing there, or at least walking quickly – to become rich in the often inhospitable desert climate.

      According to an article in Forgotten Destinations (2016), author Natasha Petrosova tells the whole story of the mining area, including the two small towns near Randsburg – Johannesburg and Red Mountain.

      In great detail, Petrosova, tells of the hardships and triumphs of the original claimants to the Rand Mine - Frederic Mooers, Charles Burcham, and John Singleton. After a short time, the three co-owners, changed its name to the Yellow Aster Mine, taking its name from a popular pulp novel by that title, that Mooers was currently reading.

      Ah, the power of the pen.

A fight to the death, or just good literature?

      In this desert location, water was always a problem. It either had to be shipped in at two dollars a barrel, or brought over great distances over the low lying hills by pipe. The piping system won and soon – well, not real soon – the mines and towns had running water.

      The boom lasted until the early 1920’s when the mines stopped producing the volume of gold ore needed to keep the miners happy. Some mines are still being worked, and in fact, the Yellow Aster Mine is still in operation today, as well as some smaller ones in the nearby hills.

      The sounds of heavy equipment could be heard echoing off the hills, as I spoke to Nikki on the main street.

      “They’re still finding gold today?” I asked.

      “Yes, and they are moving tons of dirt to find more,” she stated. “With more modern means, they are able to find the gold a bit easier than in the past.”

      I don’t know much about mining, so that one question about mining, was about all I had. The resurgence in mining in the vicinity has been going on for the past twenty years, and who knows – there may be another gold rush soon.

Perhaps, this ore crusher may come back into service soon - it could happen

      The current monetary bonanza though, is again with the tourism. The town has annual events which draws hundreds, if not thousands of visitors at one time. One such event, is the annual, Randsburg Old West Day, held each September. It’s an all-day event, which includes live bands, western shootouts, line dancing, a car show, and much more.

      “It’s pretty popular, and you better get here early to get a parking spot in town,” Nikki told me.

      Bidding farewell to Nikki, who drove off through town in her OHV, I wandered a bit through the deserted streets.

      She had told me that the town didn’t come alive until after ten in the morning, and that was usually on weekends – but when it comes to life – it really comes to life.

      I liked it quiet – thought provoking.

Very Quiet, but the memories of the past were there to see

      I often wondered why these towns, like Randsburg, are called living ghost towns, but now, after speaking with a local – I’m beginning to understand.

      Ghosts, aren’t something to fear, as those the reality television shows want us to believe. No, these ghosts are just the memories of those who have gone on before us, but leave in their footsteps something for us all to remember and cherish. To understand that they, like us, had dreams and aspirations – some came true and some, sadly, did not.

A window, looking into the past - perhaps, but no ghosts

      The point, is to go out and walk in those past footprints and to try to imagine what it must have been like in a different era. Different times but with similar hopes.

      A chance to be remembered and not forgotten.

      Philosophy 101? No, but perhaps a smile for these ghosts, at what they accomplished, or tried to, so many years ago. A nod at immortality.

For more information: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Randsburg,_California

Photographs by John R. Beyer and Paul K. Bakas