CHAPTER FOUR: THANKSGIVING IN PARADISE COUNTY
Mary Hazel Upton
BLOG POST FOR MARIETTE'S NIGHTMARE HOUSE PAGE
NOVEMBER 23, 2016 WEDNESDAY POST FOR STORY IN PROGRESS
A View Of The Powell River In Claiborne County, Tennessee
Photograph taken by Gain Upton
Gain took this photograph on a camping trip we took in June 1984 with my parents, Claude and Hazel Henson. We had bought this 17 acres on the Powell River in November 1983. In Mariette's book, Nightmare House, Claiborne County, Tennessee is Paradise County, Tennessee and the Powell River is the Paradise River.
GAIN UPTON AT THE POWELL RIVER
PHOTO TAKEN BY MARY HAZEL UPTON
THANKSGIVING IN PARADISE COUNTY
“Listen to this, honey!” It was Tuesday evening now. Supper was over, and Curt was reading last week’s Paradise Progress.
“Seventeen acres on the Paradise River. Mostly wooded. Ten thousand dollars. Possible contract. Rock Realty, 555-5666 or 555-8121 nights,” Curt read from the classified section of the Paradise Progress.
“Think we ought to call about it?”
“Yes! It might be what we’ve been looking for, and it can’t cost any more than a phone call to find out.” Mariette tried not to get her hopes up. They’d been reading the real estate ads in the Progress for some time now with no luck.
Curt Rodgers had been born and raised in Paradise County, Tennessee. He’d only moved to Indiana to look for work. He’d stayed because well-paying jobs such as he had in the Auto City plant were nonexistent in the economically depressed area of Paradise County where he’d grown up. Except for the necessity to make a living, he would have returned to his beloved homeland. He planned to retire there, but that was many years away.
The first year he and Mariette had been married, he’d taken her down to Paradise County to meet his relatives. She had immediately fallen in love with the place, and was now, if that was possible, a more ardent lover of her adopted South than even he was. Every chance they got they went down there.
Curt carefully wrote a list of the questions he wanted to ask the realtor before he dialed the first number.
“They must have closed the office already.” It was five thirty P.M. now.
He tried the second number. “Hello. My name is Curt Rodgers. I’m calling about the seventeen acres on the Paradise River you had listed in last week’s Progress.”
Paradise County, Tennessee forms just one corner of a triangle known to the local people as the “Tri-State area”. The other two corners that meet and touch it are Leeton County, Virginia, and Ball County, Kentucky. The people of these three states drive back and forth to the towns and cities in each state as casually as the people of central Indiana might drive from Auto City to Libertyville, or to nearby Morrillburg, or the county seat of Delphos, none any more than a fifty-mile drive in any direction from Carrollton Location. The great Cumberland Mountains brood over this whole area, giving it a sense of timelessness not found elsewhere. In Paradise County, the clocks run slower, and the past is part of today. Anywhere in the tristate area was where Curt and Mariette were looking for property.
Curt, son of a landless hired farmer, was land hungry. Still, he never let this cloud his basic logical judgment. He knew that most land would do nothing but go up in value, though. The modern world was slowly coming even to Paradise County. It wasn’t too soon to buy, and start improving his and Mariette’s future retirement home. In the meantime, they could camp there during their vacations.
“Yes, I know the area. I was born and raised in that area. Yes, I know where Cherokee Creek is.” Curt was writing rapidly as he talked to the realtor.
Mariette was exultant. Evidently the property was still available, and was something they might be interested in, or Curt would have hung up the phone immediately. Her interest in buying property in Curt’s birth place was less logical than his, but just as real. She knew that they still couldn’t move to Paradise County, where they both wanted to live, but just having property there would make her feel like they at least had a foothold on living there. Besides, she was more optimistic than Curt. They weren’t going to wait until they were old and gray to retire. Any day now, their “big break” was going to come, and they’d be rich, Lifestyles Of The Super Rich, rich.
“I have a few days off at Thanksgiving,” Curt was saying now. “We could possibly get down to look at it then.”
He paused to listen to the realtor’s reply. “How about Friday morning after Thanksgiving? We could meet you at the real estate office around nine A.M.”
“O.K. That’s good. Nine A.M. Friday. Same to you.” Curt hung up the phone, and turned to Mariette with a big grin on his face.
“How’d you like to spend Thanksgiving in Paradise County, honey?”
Mariette was on him, squeezing him in a big bear hug. "OH, yes! What did the realtor say about it? Tell me all about it.”
“Don’t get your hopes up,” Curt cautioned, “but it sounds good. It’s approximately five miles upriver from the Paradise River bridge.”
Mariette looked puzzled. Even though she was an almost fanatical worshipper of Dixie, she still didn’t know the area as well as Curt did.
“The bridge is located between Centerboro, Kentucky and Burley, Tennessee on Highway 25E,” Curt explained. “We’ve drove over it lots of times.”
Mariette still couldn’t quite place the area, but she listened intently as Curt related the information he’d gotten from the realtor.
“They want ten thousand, but I’m sure they’ll come down, and they’ll go a contract.”
A contract was the only way Curt and Mariette could afford to even consider buying any property. They didn’t have the cash, and Curt was wary of signing a mortgage. He knew that with a contract, all he could lose was the property, and what money he’d put into it already, unlike a bank mortgage, where he might be liable for the full value of the property, if anything went wrong. That fact had ruled out most of the places they’d checked into in Paradise County, and also most of the places they’d looked at before buying the Carrollton Location property.
It was five A.M. Thanksgiving Day when Curt and Mariette left Auto City to start the four-hundred-mile drive to Paradise County. Curt put their two suitcases in the back of their pick-up truck. Then he warmed the truck up while he scraped the frost off the windshield. It was still dark as they got started.
The small, dark towns passed like dreams as Curt kept his foot down on the accelerator, trusting the radar detector to warn him of lurking cops. The road rolled out like a black ribbon. Somewhere in the eastern sky there was a bright slit of light. As Mariette watched, it soon became a red sunrise.
“We’ve got a hundred miles done,” Curt said after they’d been on the road a couple hours. “You getting hungry yet?”
“Start looking for gas, food, lodging signs then.” They were on the Interstate now.
It took a while before they could find anything open on Thanksgiving Day. Finally, they found a Youngman’s Dairy Queen in Baitstown, Indiana open. The parking lot, the only island of light in the small, dead town, was filled with cars.
Mariette would afterwards always remember the breakfast of biscuits and gravy in that last outpost of Indiana before they entered Ohio, and then Kentucky, and finally Paradise County. She would remember everything about this historical trip, she assured herself. Because historical it was. She knew this time, she and Curt were going to finally buy a piece of Paradise County. As she ate her breakfast in the brightly lighted, converted Dairy Queen, she mentally built and furnished the log cabin that she and Curt would have on their property eventually. For now, though, it was enough to just gain a foothold in Paradise.
Curt drank the last of his coffee, left the waitress a dollar, and then went to the register to pay for their breakfast. When the waitress, who had served the handsome young couple, collected their dishes, and picked up the dollar bill Curt had left, she felt as if a chill wind blew briefly over her. The feeling was quickly gone. She thought no more about them, or the money they’d left, as the day wore on to quitting time, and their faces blended with those of all the other customers she’d served, and their dollar combined with the other tips received that day.
It was full daylight when they stepped outside. “Going to be a fair day,” Curt said, as he looked at the sky before getting into the truck. Already Mariette could hear the soft Southern cadences of his countrymen reasserting themselves in her husband’s speech.
Somewhere north of Corey, Kentucky, the landscape began to change. The change was so slow and gradual that Mariette could never be quite sure where it started. The flat plains began to give way to ever taller hills, though, until by the time they got off the Interstate and south of Cedarville, Kentucky, the great, frowning, blue mountains were all around them. The roads cut through solid rock cliffs, and cedars grew precariously on every rocky hillside.
They stopped for coffee once somewhere north of Corey, and by noon they were in Centerboro, Kentucky. Then it was only a short drive over the mountain to Burley, Tennessee.
“We’d better get us a motel before we do anything else,” Curt decided. “They’re liable to fill up fast on a holiday.”
Curt got them a room at the Dixie Motel in Burley. While he checked them in, Mariette noted, with satisfaction, that there were snack and pop machines, and even chairs, on the concrete walk way that ran the length of the motel. They might want to use the machines for TV snacks tonight. After checking over their room, Curt and Mariette drove around Burley.
Burley, Tennessee is a small town, population one thousand and fifty-two, at last count. Actually, there are two towns, run together, Burley and New Burley. There are several stores, restaurants, gas stations, and bait houses, but not much else. There are two big tobacco warehouses, though. Like the rest of this part of the South, tobacco is Burley’s lifeblood. There are no important factories, so the income of the residents is derived mostly from farming, minimum wage jobs, and the government. The farmers, who own their land, and the people receiving various sorts of government checks, do very well. The climate is milder than up North, and costs are lower. There is no place for working men, like Curt, who want to earn a decent living, though. Mariette often thought about this with resentment. She didn’t resent the rich land owners, because she planned for her and Curt to be among them someday. She did resent the people, no less able bodied than Curt, who were living “without visible means of support” off the government, though, because she was sure she and Curt would be allowed to starve in the streets before getting one penny from the government.
These thoughts were far from Mariette’s mind today, though. She was just glad to be here in Paradise County now, even if it was only for one day. Curt drove past his “old, historical areas”, as Mariette called them, pointing out his old haunts to her. She was always eager to see anything that might let her share a piece of her beloved husband’s past.
“There’s the old Burley Tobacco Warehouse. We sold a lot of tobacco there.” Curt pointed out the enormous, ancient looking, brick warehouse.
They drove on, and Curt pointed out the town’s other tobacco warehouse, R. J. Redman’s, where his family had also sold tobacco. They continued their drive through the old part of Burley until they’d been up and down all of its few streets. They’d already covered New Burley and the modern part of Old Burley. Everywhere they’d gone the town had seemed to have its sidewalks and even its streets rolled up, using the Thanksgiving holiday as an excuse. Only the truck stop, the West Fork, was open. It was always open. It was a cold day with a gray sky, and a chill that seemed to seep into their bones. Still, it wasn’t as cold as it was this time of year in Indiana, and the wind didn’t blow every minute and every hour of the day and night like it did back home. Although it was only midafternoon, it seemed later, though, under the gray sky in the dead town. It wouldn’t be too many hours before dark.
“Want to try to find the property?” Curt asked, turning back out onto the highway in the direction of the Paradise River bridge.
“I’m not sure I can find it from the directions Mr. Woodby gave me, but we can try.”
Mariette nodded. They had nothing else to do this afternoon anyway. Always when they came to Paradise County it was like this, the sense of peace, of freedom from the endless chores that kept them busy at home, and yet never seemed to be caught up. Here there was more time, endless time. Often she wondered what it would be like to live like this all the time. If only they had enough money, they could. Money, or rather the lack of it, was all that kept them from the things they desired. She wasn’t thinking about money now, just watching the scenery as Curt drove, wondering if each for sale sign they saw was guarding hers and Curt’s future property.
Curt had turned off onto a winding gravel road now. The road followed the curves of the Paradise River. The road was narrow, and in several places Curt had to stop, getting as far to his side of the road as possible without going over the edge and into the river, to let other cars pass. A time or two cars coming from the other direction had to hug the rock cliff on their side to let him pass. Each time this happened, both drivers threw up their hands in a gesture of thanks and recognition. In places, there was room for a cow pasture, or a small shack on the right side of the road. In other places the road plunged down steeply to the river. The Paradise River was the same color as the sky, but its color was the gray of living water instead of the dull color of the unbroken clouds. Across this medium sized river, the ridge rose up in an unbroken, frowning steepness to the sky. Only a house or two was visible in this wilderness. The trees, thousands upon thousands of them, crowded out all else. Now that the leaves were down, their slender, gray trunks were clearly visible. No light reflected from this gray forest. On the other side of the road were assorted shacks and trailers, becoming more sparse as Curt continued on. These places were perched on the side of the hill, or in a level spot blasted from the hill.
As Curt drove farther, the land became wilder, more primitive looking. They passed no more cars, and the only sign of life from the few houses they passed was the smoke from their chimneys. The soft grays became darker as dusk slowly began to settle on the Paradise River. Mariette shivered, a sudden fear of the civilized person for the wilderness gripping her, but even as she shivered, she was still drawn to this beautiful, untouched land.
“I guess we’re going to have to wait for Mr. Woodby to show us where the property is,” Curt said at last. His voice was reluctant, and Mariette knew that he hated to leave as badly as she did.
“I guess we’d better. We don’t need to get lost somewhere we don’t know after dark.”
Curt turned the truck around as soon as he could find a place to do so, and they drove back to Burley, and the warm lights of the West Fork Truck Stop. It was nearly five o’clock now.
Mariette saw and recognized the truck stop, even though she and Curt had never been there before. She knew immediately that this wasn’t the only time they would be eating here. When they were rich and lived in Paradise County, they would probably eat here every day. One of the first things Mariette planned to do when she had enough money, was to eat in restaurants all the time, and never cook again.
The West Fork is a typical southern truck stop. The food is good, as can be seen by the number of big rigs parked outside. It is open twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week, three hundred and sixty-five days a year. The front door opens onto the lobby where newspapers and other miscellaneous items are for sale. A door opens from this into the main part of the restaurant. The restaurant is divided into two sections by a chest high divider, and decorations from there to the ceiling. The section on the left is directly connected with the outer lobby and has the cashier’s counter beside the door. The section at the right has the salad bar at the front, and the kitchen at the rear. It is the warmest section.
Curt chose the right section of the restaurant, and led Mariette back to a table near the kitchen. There were no other customers on this side, and only a few on the other side.
“Would you like coffee?” The waitress’ Southern accent was thick enough to cut with a knife. Mariette listened to it in fascinated admiration, as the girl handed them menus, and then went back for the brewed decaffeinated coffee that Curt had requested for them.
They sipped their coffee, and talked softly of the prospects and possibilities of the as yet unseen property, as they waited on their Thanksgiving supper. Mariette looked at the red and green glass candles, and the way the soft light flickered on her husband’s brown curls, storing up this memory to keep forever. Sometimes she thought her heart would burst with love for him. Suddenly she wanted him, and wanting him was all mixed up with the Paradise River, and how thankful she was for everything, but especially for him.
The dark-haired waitress brought their supper then, turkey with cornbread dressing, mashed potatoes and gravy, candied yams, green beans, pinto beans, cranberry sauce, and cornbread. Mariette’s and Curt’s attention was transferred to the meal, as they suddenly realized how hungry they were. They arranged the side dishes of vegetables so that they could share them. They always did this, each ordering different vegetables, and then sharing them all. For dessert, they had pumpkin pie, and more coffee. After supper, as Curt smoked a cigarette, they continued their discussion of the property.
It was dark when they left the West Fork, and started back to their motel. After Curt and Mariette left the West Fork, the waitress, who had served them, felt unaccountably depressed. She was normally a cheerful person. She tried to shake off the feeling, but it persisted all night.
Back at the motel, Curt adjusted the television set while Mariette got all the pillows from both beds, and propped them up in one of the beds, so they could lie in bed and watch television. Mariette would just as soon have not had the television. She considered it unromantic and a distraction from what she really wanted to be doing. Curt wasn’t distracted for long, though. Soon his attention was more on Mariette than on the movie. He cupped her breasts in both hands, squeezing gently. Then slowly he began to kiss her, first on the lips, gently and then more urgently, putting his tongue between her opened and accepting lips. At last he moved to her breasts, licking and sucking her nipples to hardness. Mariette moaned with pleasure, reaching for his male hardness, making it harder still. She slid down and began to kiss him too, taking his hardness into her mouth. She ran her tongue over it, unable to get more than half of it in her mouth.
Curt moaned. “Come here, sweetheart,” he said, at last unable to stand anymore.
Mariette moaned again as he plunged deep inside her. “Oh yes, honey. Yes. I love you, Curt. I love you so much.”
As the familiar rhythms of their lovemaking began, Mariette began to replay her favorite love fantasy in her mind. It excited her, and made her loving with Curt even better, if that was possible. She had never shared it with him, not sure if it was really right to be thinking about a fantasy while he was making love to her. Regardless, she was completely aware of every kiss and every thrust of his lovemaking, so she didn’t really feel guilty. It was her secret, though.
The love fantasy began as it always did. It was early April, and she and Curt were walking through the woods just outside of Centersboro. It was warm, and there was a fine mist of rain. The sky was a soft gray to match the soft, tender green of the trees, just beginning to leave out. They were just outside of Centerboro, but they might as well have been back in the farthest reaches of the wilderness. They had to park their truck beside a small house with a yard full of chickens when the rutted dirt road became a footpath. They were going to look about a house they’d seen advertised in the newspaper for only two thousand dollars. This part of the fantasy was true. Mariette remembered the place well.
She also remembered the log cabins, each more tumbledown and isolated than the last, but after that, the only place this lovely landscape existed was in her own mind.
Curt shook his head. “I don’t see any sense in going any farther, Mariette. This is too far back for us to want to buy anything here.”
“Just a little farther, Curt. Please. Let’s at least look at it. We’ve come this far.”
Shy wild flowers were springing up under the dark cedars. Raindrops glistened like jewels on her husband’s curls. And suddenly Mariette wanted him with a desire that was like a flame.
“O.K. I guess it can’t hurt to look.” Curt smiled indulgently at his pretty, young wife.
The soft spring rain was rapidly becoming a downpour when they finally reached the cabin. The gray sky was almost black now. The cabin was sorry looking, its rotted wood stained dark brown by the rain. It was the only shelter, though.
“I hope the roof doesn’t leak,” Curt said, opening the door of the cabin.
Miraculously, it didn’t. There was even furniture left in the old cabin, as if the former occupants had just walked away one day. There was a stove, and an old-fashioned bed, and even a rickety old table, and two chairs in its one room.
Mariette was shivering violently now. The summer clothes she’d worn for their walk were no longer enough now that the rain had seemingly set in for the rest of the day. Her nipples stood out clearly under the green knit sun top she wore. The sun top was one of her favorites because it made her breasts look bigger. Her midriff was bare to the top of her faded jeans. She saw Curt looking at her. She knew he was seeing and appreciating how her breasts stood out.
“We’re going to have to stay here at least until the rain lets up,” Curt decided.
He checked the stove, and began to build a fire. Once the fire was burning, the little cabin became cozy. He and Mariette took off their clothes. She could see his manhood was standing out, hard and ready, as he led her to the bed.
Mariette was still shivering, but with desire now, as Curt squeezed her nipples slowly to hardness, then let his hand slip down between her legs. They were standing beside the bed now. The bed had an old quilt on it in an ancient, little used pattern called Coffin Blocks, so named because of their shape. Its once bright colors were faded to pastels now, with here and there a bit of red.
“This bed’s awfully lumpy,” Mariette protested, as Curt laid her on the bed.
She pulled the quilt down, revealing the broken mattress. She saw something green that was being used as stuffing in the mattress. She pulled a handful of the stuffing out. Soon she and Curt were pulling out handful after handful of old silver certificates in twenty, fifty, hundred, and thousand dollar denominations. Below the paper money were coins, hundreds and hundreds of old silver dollars.
“There’ s got to be at least a million dollars in here,” Curt said at last in a hushed voice. “Put it back, Mariette. We’re going to buy this place as soon as we can get back to town. We’re rich, darling!”
The rain was still pouring down, harder than ever, outside. It was almost dark now, and no one around for miles. Their discovery would be safe until morning. They would have to spend the night in the old cabin.
Carefully Mariette drew the ragged curtains. She and Curt put all the money back in the mattress except a handful of thousand dollar bills, and covered it with the ragged quilt. Then Mariette lay down on the mattress with the money in her hands, and her legs spread apart.
“Love me, honey. Please love me. I’ve never been loved on a million dollars before,” she said.
Slowly, gently, as if in a trance, Curt began to rub the thousand dollar bills over her breasts and between her legs. Then it was his turn, and Mariette rubbed them on him, hardening his manhood to increased length.
“Now, Curt. Now! Please love me,” Mariette moaned at last, flinging the money all over both of them.
Quickly Curt came to her, plunging deep into her most secret place. The ecstasy built up until she was sure she could not stand it any longer, and then exploded in a shower of falling stars.
“We’re rich, Curt! We're rich!” she whispered as the ecstasy overtook her.
Mariette felt herself exploding inside, and then she was still underneath Curt as he finished. The cabin was gone, and the walls of the motel were around them again, but the feeling of excitement persisted long after Curt had turned off the lights, and the TV for them to sleep. This day, she knew, their lives were being changed. It was a long time before she finally fell asleep.
ANOTHER VIEW OF OUR 17 ACRES ON THE POWELL RIVER
TAKEN JUNE 1984
PHOTOGRAPH BY GAIN UPTON
All of the property was in woods except for one section that extended to the edge of the Powell River. Most of it was on hill side, and Gain had a man flatten out just enough next to the dirt road that ran through the property to put up an old mobile home for us to use for camping. We called the dirt road "The Wilderness Road". Gain later named the property "Hoot Owl Holler" because at night we could walk on the road, or lie in bed, and listen to the hoot owls. As I began decorating the trailer with things we bought at the flea market in Claiborne County, or yard sales, I chose things with an owl theme. I remember I managed to find several coffee mugs with owl pictures on them to add to my collection of dishes. We had no electricity or running water there, which made it especially nice to camp there, although Gain did have a battery operated radio, which he only used occasionally. I didn't figure we really needed that! For lights we used a kerosene lamp and a battery operated lantern, and often ate supper at our little kitchen table by that light, and also read the newspaper by lamp light.
At the time all of these photographs were taken, though, we didn't yet have the mobile home, but used tents. It was especially nice when we got the mobile home, though, because then we were able to keep everything we needed there when we came down to visit Gain's relatives. When it was warm enough, we usually stayed one night with them, but the rest of the time on our own property, and gave them permission to use it whenever they wanted to also.
DIARY ENTRY FOR THIS MONTH'S BLOG POST
MARY HAZEL'S DIARY
NOVEMBER 23, 2016 WEDNESDAY
FOXTAIL GRASS ON BELL AVENUE IN CLARKSVILLE, INDIANA
TAKEN ON NOVEMBER 1, 2016
PHOTOGRAPH BY MARY HAZEL UPTON
I will include a bit of a diary entry with this blog post, and a couple of links I found that may be of interest to someone. I wasn't sure I was going to get time to post this chapter of Mariette's book before Thanksgiving, but it looks like I will just barely make it. Not that it matters, I guess. I haven't had time to advertise my website yet, so doubt if anyone is reading it. I only sent the link to my brother, Charles, and his wife, Anna Marie, so far. I have found several places that might publish a link to my page in exchange for stories, articles, or photographs, and plan to check them out as soon as I get time. If they are interested, I will share the links to their pages on my website with you also.
Mostly I have been trying to get all of the yard work finished before cold weather. We really haven't had much cold weather yet. All I have left to do is to cut down a few of the annual plants, and take them to the compost pile (the "flower cemetery"), and hope that they will have had time to make seed so that their daughters can bloom again next year. It rained last night, and looks as if there could be more rain, though, so I took this Wednesday, which is my usual gardening day, to get this blog post published. I looked up the photographs for it last night. The very old photographs taken at the Powell River are from very old diaries that I kept when Gain and I had this property. In Mariette's book, the Powell River is called the Paradise River, and Claiborne County, Tennessee is Paradise County, Tennessee.
I have also been working in the Halloween Library in the basement, and will continue to work on that during the winter, but needed a day off from that too.
I am still doing the second proofreading of Amy's book, The House Of The Laughing Gargoyles. I hope to finish that this month, and also get it posted to Bookemon. Then I will have to proof it again on Bookemon, order a hard copy, and proof that one final time before publishing it. I had hoped to get all that done this month, but everything takes longer than you think it will. I am still hoping to have it published in December of this year, though. I will post a blog announcing the publication of this book as soon as it is actually published, along with the first chapter. Then if anybody wants to read the whole book, they can go to Bookemon and read it there online for free.
PHOTOGRAPH TAKEN NOVEMBER 22, 2016 TUESDAY
PHOTOGRAPH BY MARY HAZEL UPTON
This beautiful pink rose was still blooming beside the fence of one of the houses on Randolf Avenue here in Clarksville. These people have a lot of beautiful flowers in their yard, and along the fence, as well as white wooden archways, one of them guarded by two stone lion statues. I took this photo yesterday with my cell phone. If it stays warm, their roses will probably continue blooming through December. This rose was right beside the sidewalk, and was drooping down. I rotated the photo so the rose would be right side up.
While gathering the rest of the material for this blog post this morning I found these two links that may be of interest.
THE CLAIBORNE PROGRESS
This is Claiborne County, Tennessee's weekly newspaper. At the time Gain and I bought the Powell River property, back in the 1980's, it was only a paper newspaper. It is where we saw the property advertised. We subscribed to the newspaper then, and it was mailed to us in Indiana. In Mariette's book, The Paradise Progress, that she and Curt get by mail, is really The Claiborne Progress.
A WEBSITE OF CLAIBORNE COUNTY HISTORY AND MANY LINKS FOR INFORMATION ABOUT THIS AREA
This is a very nice website that I found this morning. The man who made it has obviously put a lot of work into it, and it is obviously a labor of love. I haven't had a chance to read it all yet, but will go back and read more when I get time.
I have one more rose photograph to post to this diary and also want to tell you more about what is coming up next month on the website, but am out of time for now. I have to call Hammerhead in a half hour and take him to Dollar Tree and also to Arby's for lunch. So I will have to close down for now. Still need to proof this whole blog post also, but should be able to easily finish that this afternoon when I get back. Just checked out both links and they work fine!
It is almost 6 o'clock this evening as I finally get back to work to finish this blog post. It was starting to rain again after Hammerhead and I left Arby's, and it looks like the rain is going to set in now for the rest of the night. Fortunately, it is staying warm, so there is no chance of snow or freezing rain tonight! I just finished the last of the phone calls I needed to make to set up an outing for Hammerhead tomorrow. Many of the stores will be closed, of course, but the Dollar General in New Albany is having a one day Thanksgiving sale tomorrow, and opening at 7 o'clock in the morning. That left finding somewhere to eat breakfast. I finally located a McDonald's in New Albany that said they were going to be open also tomorrow. I guess, from what they said, they never close. Anyway, I figured it was better to take time to call, because if I'd guessed wrong about which stores would be open, Hammerhead wouldn't have had energy to keep looking for another one. Hammerhead, my adopted Daddy, will be 90 in February. I would not shop on a holiday, but otherwise he would just be at home alone on Thanksgiving if I didn't take him into town.
Charles, my brother, is not going to have his Thanksgiving party until Sunday dinner, so I will be going to his house then. Theresa, Anna Marie's cousin, can't come until then, and so Thanksgiving is delayed until she and the kids can also come. I went to the Dollar Tree yesterday to buy Thanksgiving "loot" (small presents) for the kids.
Anyway, a brief mention of what is coming up next blog post, hopefully in December before Christmas. I plan to post the next chapter in Mariette's book, which is one of the "nightmare chapters", which will alternate with the regular chapters throughout this book. That chapter is called The Intruder Within. I already have this chapter typed, but need to select photos to illustrate it. I plan to post more of the photos of the house on Main Street, as well as photos of mine and Gain's house in Kokomo in that chapter. I will also look for a few Christmas photos and flower photos for the diary entry part of that blog post.
In January 2017 I will post the rest of the account of Curt's and Mariette's trip to Paradise County. That chapter will be called Fred Woodby: Premonition Of Disaster. That chapter will be illustrated with more photos of the Powell River property.
I will try to post a new chapter of Mariette's book each month, and when I can, another blog post also, but if I only have time for one blog post, then it will be a chapter of Mariette's book. I had hoped to publish a second blog post last month, one of the Arcadia vampire stories, on Earon's page, but just did not get time. I will post that as soon as I can.
I have quite a few chapters of Mariette's book written, some typed long ago, but that need to be retyped on the computer, and a lot more handwritten in notebooks. After I get those typed into the computer, I'll continue writing the rest of the book. For now, the book is just blog posts, but eventually, when it is finished, I will also publish a hard copy on Bookemon. It is very nice to be able to publlish directly to the Internet, but I only trust hard copies. I have hard copies of the material I'm posting so far, but when I start writing again, I won't have unless I make back up hard copies.
As I mentioned before, the nightmare chapters will alternate occasionally with the regular chapters. Some of the nightmares will be Mariette's nightmares, but as the story progresses, then some of the nightmares will be the other characters' nightmares. Mariette is, and will always be, the main character in all her books, but the Nightmare House series of stories will be multiple character stories.
One final photograph to share.
Until next month,
MORE NOVEMBER ROSES
PHOTOGRAPH TAKEN NOVEMBER 22, 2016
PHOTOGRAPH BY MARY HAZEL UPTON
I took these beautiful roses with Cell Phone Boy at the same house on Randolf Avenue here in Clarksville as I did the other rose photograph in this blog. They also had red roses, but the photographs of the pink roses turned out the best, so I decided to use them.