EXPLORIN'
In 1924, when my father managed to gather a little over three hundred dollars together in one place, he purchased a bright new Ford Model “T” - our first car.
It was a 3-1/2-door “touring car”. In those days the door on the driver's side was merely impressed on the metal so that there appear to be a door there. No handle. It didn't open anyway. I don't remember if Dad had to pay additionally for some of the “extras” the new car sported, but it came with a bag of isinglass curtains you could hang “all around” if you got them
n snapped into place before the rains got to you. The car had running boards on both sides and the one on the left held a collapse able, metal ''luggage rack.” It was clamped to the step and was usually kept folded to fit the “non door” area on the driver's side. We also had a windshield wiper which we boys took turns operated by twisting a small handle as the first raindrops spattered against the high, vertical windshield glass. We also carried a spare tire mounted on the back of the car, and we soon learned that the “tire repair kit” and tools (i.e. - a crank, a lug wrench, an air pump,and inner-tube patches of various sizes as well as a small, tin container of glue.)...were essential for all travel.
With that momentous purchase, a whole new world of exploration opened up for us as a family. My Dad had a special sense of semi-controlled wanderlust. We were a church-going family so after Sunday School and morning worship services at the Presbyterian Church in our section of town, we had our Sunday Dinner and, then, “took a ride” in our car.
Dad loved to explore side roads he'd never used before. When he wondered what might be at the other end, we often found surprises awaiting us. One such Sunday afternoon we ended up in the front yard of a fine, old farm house where the entire family came down from their chairs on the spacious front porch to bid us welcome. The were so glad to have anyone even total strangers off the dusty road to call” on them. After Dad and the Father and Grandfather of the farm family walked around the car, kicked the tires and inspected other features, we all joined the family on rocking chairs, straight chairs, stools and and benches on the the wide, wrap-around porch and sipped minted tea with our new found traveler friends. The youngest girl, maybe six or seven, led my brother and me down creekside to the left of the big, white house and showed us how she could catch live crayfish “by hand.”
On another such adventure, Dad selected the worst looking road at the fork. We left the main dirt road and embarked a rocky trail leading downward through dense woodlands. We found ourselves riding along a valley beside a fine, fast-flowing stream. We had only a poor idea of where we were. When Dad saw an old man sitting on the lean-to-porch of a lean-to cabin leaning toward the river,and just a few feet above the water, he stopped the car and inquired of the seemingly friendly old man as the name of the river which flowed past his home. It was plain the old man heard the question, but he took his own, sweet time deciding what his reply might be. Finally, he poked his old gnarled sapling cane out toward the water and said: ”Well, now! I can't rightly say. I ain't lived here but seven year.”
We found out later the stream was a tributary of the Roanoke River called the Staunton river by folks down stream. With Dad as our leader, our family explored much of southwestern Virginia in the '20's. Even today I find myself wondering at crossroads where we might end up if we took that side road.
A.L.M. July 21, 2003 [c719wds].
