As a graduation gift, in June of 2006 our good friends, Lisa and Andy Gemperline, invited me to come visit them in Keller, Texas, for a few weeks. While there, I had the privilege of watching their daughters, Heather and Hanna, dance in a ballet. It was a rare treat to be there during the dress rehearsal, as Lisa and I were allowed to go backstage and take photos of the dancers from a perspective we would never have while sitting in the audience. They were so beautiful.
After jotting about Keller and Grapevine for a few days, Lisa and I set off on a short weekend trip to Jefferson, on the far northeast border of Texas and Louisiana. The following is a record of our adventure into unknown environs.
After jotting about Keller and Grapevine for a few days, Lisa and I set off on a short weekend trip to Jefferson, on the far northeast border of Texas and Louisiana. The following is a record of our adventure into unknown environs.
Keller to Gladewater
The morning drive around the periphery of Dallas was an uneventful one, but interesting. I had a chance to see the area where Andy’s project, the big tunnel, is going to be put into place someday, which will be quite a feat, considering they plan to put it right under the existing freeway system, running the very same route, and without disrupting traffic currently using the freeway. That will really be something!
When we reached the junction of I-20, we started heading east. The day was beautiful and clear, and started out warm, so we knew it was going to get hot. The area we drove through began to get quite hilly, and both sides of the freeway were thick with trees of all kinds. The mimosa trees seem to be growing wild here, along with oaks and sumacs and others I didn’t get close enough to recognize. It was so green and lovely. Wildflowers bloomed here and there in the grasses that grew along the shoulder of the road, and the center divide between east and westbound traffic was green and lush.
We could see signs of the maintenance required to keep the beautiful grasses under control in the form of bright green tractors. They sat in a stately manner atop a hilled part of the divider, 7 or 8 in a row, lined up like soldiers at attention. Lisa noticed them first, as I was looking at the map at the time, and she was so excited at the picture they made that she shouted, “Oh, My Gosh! Look at THAT!” For a moment, we thought about stopping to take a picture, but she had already passed the best vantage point, so we decided we would get a shot on the way back home. What a mistake! As it happened, the tractors were all out mowing on the day we drove back through, and the area was dusty, dry, and the sun was beating down on the haze being created by the huge blades as they snipped and flipped grass and dirt into the air. We decided not to stop for a photo, after all.
Not long after passing the regiment of tractors we came to the turn-off to Gladewater. This is a small town with an obscene number of antique shops, and very little else. Lisa’s Texas guidebook recommended a little bakery – what was it called? I think it was the Bumblebee Bakery or something like that. Whatever its name, its fare was yummy, and we were happy to have found such a nice little quiet and cool refuge to have our lunch in. We both had chicken salad sandwiches on croissants, and though they weren’t fancy (no nuts or grapes in the mixture), they were awfully good, and just what I was hoping to find (although the nuts and grapes would have made them twice as good!). After eating, we were tempted by the treats awaiting the eye as we paid for our lunches and went out the door, but we told ourselves we would come back before leaving town to snatch mething scrumptious for the road.
There are so many antique and gift shops to dive into in Gladewater that it’s easy to get lost, and Lisa spent the entire time we were in town completely turned around because we kept skipping from one side of the road to the other. I can’t even remember how many shops we actually went into, there were so many. After a couple of hours of unearthing treasures, and telling ourselves that we should wait to buy until we’d seen all there was, in case the next store had an even better item at an even better price, we made it to the end of main street – completely parched and ready to drop. Lisa’s legs and my feet were making it difficult to enjoy exploration any longer, and one of the shopkeepers recommended a little Mexican restaurant that was down the street just a bit further. She didn’t recommend it because of its cuisine, rather, because it was the closest place to sit down and have a drink. How could we go wrong with that kind of a referral? We reluctantly approached the building that looked a few coats shy of new paint, and with some trepidation, two weary and desperate women entered the interior. We were relieved and very surprised at what we found.
The room was full of cheerfully set tables and jaunty music turned up high enough to notice it was pleasant, but low enough to be unobtrusive. The attentive waitress came to ask what we’d like, and once we’d given her our drink choices and told her that was all we were having, she said, in a very quiet voice “Would you like some chips and salsa with your drinks?” This was an option we hadn’t even considered, and eagerly told her “Yes,” and “Thank you!”
Lisa and I were surprised when the waitress brought out canned pop with glasses full of ice instead of fountain drinks (which the waitress explained they do not have in their restaurant). We munched on chips and drank our sodas while we rested our weary legs on the chairs next to our own. It was such a delightful place to be! We stayed in this little hole-in-the-wall paradise for at least an hour, while Lisa made a list of wants and needs for her next home in Utah. It turned out to be a good list, and I don’t think we forgot anything, and this turned out to be the best possible place and time we could have worked on it.
The waitress refilled our chips and salsa dishes while we continued to work on the list, and we finally, reluctantly, got up to leave. The waitress hadn’t charged us for anything but our two drinks, and yet she had been there to serve us before we even knew we needed anything, so we left her a good tip, and more than enough for our drinks, hoping it had been worth her time.
By the time we pulled ourselves out of that restaurant, almost all of the shops along the main street were closed. It was just past 5:00pm. As we made our way back to the car, we happened upon a cute little shop whose OPEN sign was still hanging on the door. We peeked in to ask if they were open and the pleasant proprietress said, “Yes, come on in!”
The shop smelled lovely, and soft music greeted our entry. The place was full of soft, fluffy, white and pastel-colored chenille of varying designs, colors and piles. Chenille pillows, wall hangings, and stuffed animals poured out of buckets, boxes and open dresser drawers. They hung from ribbons on the walls, rested against seat-backs, and were tucked into crevices everywhere. Many were painted with words of wisdom and inspirational thoughts. The calligraphy was beautifully done, and decorated with painted flowers, vines, and pastoral scenes. All of this “soft” ware was grounded by antique furniture and shabby-chic ware. There were large pieces of ceiling tins painted in pastels and old wooden panel doors both with and without windows. There were sashes from double-hung windows with wavy glass still held in place by their original grids, and antique mirrors that hung from chains, the silver pitted and peeling off their backs. What wasn’t for sale was hammered, glued, and stapled to one of the walls that divided the width of the shop, a sort-of decorative paneling. Lisa is inspired by light. As such, she was enthralled with this shop from the moment we walked in, and when she saw the skylight in the roof, she never wanted to leave. It was a touch of serenity in the middle of the myriad antique shops full of dusty and sometimes grimy wares, with their fluorescent lighting and single windows looking onto the street where most of the light was obscured by the newest treasures unearthed by the owner and set into the display windows to attract potential customers. This little shop, in contrast, was truly a refuge.
As Lisa was making her purchases, the owner told us a bit about her recent divorce after 20-some-odd years of marriage, and in her determined way, she explained that she was remodeling the back of the shop so that she could make an apartment to live in. I decided I just had to buy something from this sweet lady that was in the middle of a huge crisis in her life. I didn’t want to carry anything large home with me, so when I spotted a little Japanese paper fan, I knew I’d found just the right thing.
We left the shop with backward waves and good wishes, and carried our treasures to the long-abandoned pistol-hot car. We had been given instructions for taking the “scenic route” by the bakery owner’s husband, when we had paid for our lunches earlier in the day, and we decided we should take his advice and drive through the countryside instead of on the freeway. First, however, we planned to stop back at the bakery for a treat to eat on the way to Jefferson, our destination. Alas, when we got back to the bakery it was also closed, and all of those lovely pastries outside our grasp!
The car needed gas, and we needed to find a restroom, so after filling the tank we went inside the scary little ramshackle building in search of the bathrooms. The man behind the counter, when asked where the restrooms were, barked, “Next door, in the laundromat.” We made our way next door, and walked into a typical laundromat right out of the 1960s. Green interior, dirty old linoleum squares on the floor badly in need of a waxing, and a counter at the back of the building where a worker would take in loads to be dry-cleaned. The place was abandoned, lending it a rather eerie feel, and Lisa bravely went into the dark little room in the back of the building first. There was no circulation, and no way of locking the door, and by the time she came out, I though she might pass out from the heat or the claustrophobia. She made a bee-line for the car while I hurried inside, and we made a quick getaway the minute I finished washing my hands in the sink that might have actually made them dirtier than they already were.
The road map given to us by the bakery-man was somewhat correct, but when you’re driving on sparsely-marked farm roads using a map that is not to scale and missing several little tidbits of information (that turn out to be huge issues), it can make for some pretty interesting sightseeing, which is what we had. The route was beautiful, though, and Lisa was such a trooper about doing all the driving, and we just took our time and enjoyed the view. I have no idea where the heck we were, now that I think back on it, except that we did cross a dam, and we came into the city of Jefferson from the north, instead of the south, which is the way the freeway would have delivered us. I think the drive took about 2 hours, and the entire length of it was beautiful – even when we thought we were surely lost for good!
When we reached the junction of I-20, we started heading east. The day was beautiful and clear, and started out warm, so we knew it was going to get hot. The area we drove through began to get quite hilly, and both sides of the freeway were thick with trees of all kinds. The mimosa trees seem to be growing wild here, along with oaks and sumacs and others I didn’t get close enough to recognize. It was so green and lovely. Wildflowers bloomed here and there in the grasses that grew along the shoulder of the road, and the center divide between east and westbound traffic was green and lush.
We could see signs of the maintenance required to keep the beautiful grasses under control in the form of bright green tractors. They sat in a stately manner atop a hilled part of the divider, 7 or 8 in a row, lined up like soldiers at attention. Lisa noticed them first, as I was looking at the map at the time, and she was so excited at the picture they made that she shouted, “Oh, My Gosh! Look at THAT!” For a moment, we thought about stopping to take a picture, but she had already passed the best vantage point, so we decided we would get a shot on the way back home. What a mistake! As it happened, the tractors were all out mowing on the day we drove back through, and the area was dusty, dry, and the sun was beating down on the haze being created by the huge blades as they snipped and flipped grass and dirt into the air. We decided not to stop for a photo, after all.
Not long after passing the regiment of tractors we came to the turn-off to Gladewater. This is a small town with an obscene number of antique shops, and very little else. Lisa’s Texas guidebook recommended a little bakery – what was it called? I think it was the Bumblebee Bakery or something like that. Whatever its name, its fare was yummy, and we were happy to have found such a nice little quiet and cool refuge to have our lunch in. We both had chicken salad sandwiches on croissants, and though they weren’t fancy (no nuts or grapes in the mixture), they were awfully good, and just what I was hoping to find (although the nuts and grapes would have made them twice as good!). After eating, we were tempted by the treats awaiting the eye as we paid for our lunches and went out the door, but we told ourselves we would come back before leaving town to snatch mething scrumptious for the road.
There are so many antique and gift shops to dive into in Gladewater that it’s easy to get lost, and Lisa spent the entire time we were in town completely turned around because we kept skipping from one side of the road to the other. I can’t even remember how many shops we actually went into, there were so many. After a couple of hours of unearthing treasures, and telling ourselves that we should wait to buy until we’d seen all there was, in case the next store had an even better item at an even better price, we made it to the end of main street – completely parched and ready to drop. Lisa’s legs and my feet were making it difficult to enjoy exploration any longer, and one of the shopkeepers recommended a little Mexican restaurant that was down the street just a bit further. She didn’t recommend it because of its cuisine, rather, because it was the closest place to sit down and have a drink. How could we go wrong with that kind of a referral? We reluctantly approached the building that looked a few coats shy of new paint, and with some trepidation, two weary and desperate women entered the interior. We were relieved and very surprised at what we found.
The room was full of cheerfully set tables and jaunty music turned up high enough to notice it was pleasant, but low enough to be unobtrusive. The attentive waitress came to ask what we’d like, and once we’d given her our drink choices and told her that was all we were having, she said, in a very quiet voice “Would you like some chips and salsa with your drinks?” This was an option we hadn’t even considered, and eagerly told her “Yes,” and “Thank you!”
Lisa and I were surprised when the waitress brought out canned pop with glasses full of ice instead of fountain drinks (which the waitress explained they do not have in their restaurant). We munched on chips and drank our sodas while we rested our weary legs on the chairs next to our own. It was such a delightful place to be! We stayed in this little hole-in-the-wall paradise for at least an hour, while Lisa made a list of wants and needs for her next home in Utah. It turned out to be a good list, and I don’t think we forgot anything, and this turned out to be the best possible place and time we could have worked on it.
The waitress refilled our chips and salsa dishes while we continued to work on the list, and we finally, reluctantly, got up to leave. The waitress hadn’t charged us for anything but our two drinks, and yet she had been there to serve us before we even knew we needed anything, so we left her a good tip, and more than enough for our drinks, hoping it had been worth her time.
By the time we pulled ourselves out of that restaurant, almost all of the shops along the main street were closed. It was just past 5:00pm. As we made our way back to the car, we happened upon a cute little shop whose OPEN sign was still hanging on the door. We peeked in to ask if they were open and the pleasant proprietress said, “Yes, come on in!”
The shop smelled lovely, and soft music greeted our entry. The place was full of soft, fluffy, white and pastel-colored chenille of varying designs, colors and piles. Chenille pillows, wall hangings, and stuffed animals poured out of buckets, boxes and open dresser drawers. They hung from ribbons on the walls, rested against seat-backs, and were tucked into crevices everywhere. Many were painted with words of wisdom and inspirational thoughts. The calligraphy was beautifully done, and decorated with painted flowers, vines, and pastoral scenes. All of this “soft” ware was grounded by antique furniture and shabby-chic ware. There were large pieces of ceiling tins painted in pastels and old wooden panel doors both with and without windows. There were sashes from double-hung windows with wavy glass still held in place by their original grids, and antique mirrors that hung from chains, the silver pitted and peeling off their backs. What wasn’t for sale was hammered, glued, and stapled to one of the walls that divided the width of the shop, a sort-of decorative paneling. Lisa is inspired by light. As such, she was enthralled with this shop from the moment we walked in, and when she saw the skylight in the roof, she never wanted to leave. It was a touch of serenity in the middle of the myriad antique shops full of dusty and sometimes grimy wares, with their fluorescent lighting and single windows looking onto the street where most of the light was obscured by the newest treasures unearthed by the owner and set into the display windows to attract potential customers. This little shop, in contrast, was truly a refuge.
As Lisa was making her purchases, the owner told us a bit about her recent divorce after 20-some-odd years of marriage, and in her determined way, she explained that she was remodeling the back of the shop so that she could make an apartment to live in. I decided I just had to buy something from this sweet lady that was in the middle of a huge crisis in her life. I didn’t want to carry anything large home with me, so when I spotted a little Japanese paper fan, I knew I’d found just the right thing.
We left the shop with backward waves and good wishes, and carried our treasures to the long-abandoned pistol-hot car. We had been given instructions for taking the “scenic route” by the bakery owner’s husband, when we had paid for our lunches earlier in the day, and we decided we should take his advice and drive through the countryside instead of on the freeway. First, however, we planned to stop back at the bakery for a treat to eat on the way to Jefferson, our destination. Alas, when we got back to the bakery it was also closed, and all of those lovely pastries outside our grasp!
The car needed gas, and we needed to find a restroom, so after filling the tank we went inside the scary little ramshackle building in search of the bathrooms. The man behind the counter, when asked where the restrooms were, barked, “Next door, in the laundromat.” We made our way next door, and walked into a typical laundromat right out of the 1960s. Green interior, dirty old linoleum squares on the floor badly in need of a waxing, and a counter at the back of the building where a worker would take in loads to be dry-cleaned. The place was abandoned, lending it a rather eerie feel, and Lisa bravely went into the dark little room in the back of the building first. There was no circulation, and no way of locking the door, and by the time she came out, I though she might pass out from the heat or the claustrophobia. She made a bee-line for the car while I hurried inside, and we made a quick getaway the minute I finished washing my hands in the sink that might have actually made them dirtier than they already were.
The road map given to us by the bakery-man was somewhat correct, but when you’re driving on sparsely-marked farm roads using a map that is not to scale and missing several little tidbits of information (that turn out to be huge issues), it can make for some pretty interesting sightseeing, which is what we had. The route was beautiful, though, and Lisa was such a trooper about doing all the driving, and we just took our time and enjoyed the view. I have no idea where the heck we were, now that I think back on it, except that we did cross a dam, and we came into the city of Jefferson from the north, instead of the south, which is the way the freeway would have delivered us. I think the drive took about 2 hours, and the entire length of it was beautiful – even when we thought we were surely lost for good!
Arrival In Jefferson
Jefferson City, at least in the oldest part of town, is a page out of history. We entered the town from the north, coming down the main road, and found ourselves surrounded by the sights of a town built long ago, and preserved beautifully. Antique shops abound here, as well as the old hotels and restaurants, curiosity shops, candy stores, and every other kind of little specialty shop one could imagine. One shop in particular sold nothing but jams, jellies and syrups! All the shops were closed, except for the general store and the restaurants.
We walked into the little general store that was more like a touristy gift shop than a grocery store. It had an old-fashioned soda fountain in the back corner, just like I remember the drug stores had when I was a kid. They served all kinds of ice cream and other delights, but we were in need of real food, not just goodies, so Lisa struck up a conversation with two people in the store to ask them where a good place to eat might be found. I thought they might work at the store, because they didn’t seem to be in a hurry to go anywhere, but I was wrong. They nearly talked her ear off as they gave her details about each restaurant, where each was, and what kind of food could be found in each. I thought they might start pulling out menus and order taking booklets, the way they were selling her on each one. Texans are so dang friendly, unless, of course, you're on the opposing team of any sport.
We took the Helpful Couple's advice and visited a few of the places they had recommended, and they didn’t steer us wrong. Both meals we had at the restaurants they suggested were terrific. The first night, we ate at the noisiest place in town, where smoking indoors is the norm, and where the band was just warming up in the corner. I could tell they were getting ready for a rowdy night in the big town of Jefferson, and I was about ready to fall asleep in my food, so I was hoping we’d be finished eating before they were finished setting up. The food was good, and the staff was so friendly and helpful, we couldn’t help but enjoy ourselves, and after we were through eating, I was feeling much better, and re-thinking the idea of taking off before the
festivities began. Lisa called and inquired about one of the hotels just outside of town (about a literal stone’s throw from the restaurant) called the Maison Bayou. It sounded rather fun, as each of the rooms they rent are little cabins. We followed the directions given by the owner, and found ourselves on a dark and winding dirt road with very few signs to guide us to the Maison. When we stopped, it wasn’t because we knew we were there, but because the house we came to looked quite a bit like the one in the advertisement.
We walked into the little general store that was more like a touristy gift shop than a grocery store. It had an old-fashioned soda fountain in the back corner, just like I remember the drug stores had when I was a kid. They served all kinds of ice cream and other delights, but we were in need of real food, not just goodies, so Lisa struck up a conversation with two people in the store to ask them where a good place to eat might be found. I thought they might work at the store, because they didn’t seem to be in a hurry to go anywhere, but I was wrong. They nearly talked her ear off as they gave her details about each restaurant, where each was, and what kind of food could be found in each. I thought they might start pulling out menus and order taking booklets, the way they were selling her on each one. Texans are so dang friendly, unless, of course, you're on the opposing team of any sport.
We took the Helpful Couple's advice and visited a few of the places they had recommended, and they didn’t steer us wrong. Both meals we had at the restaurants they suggested were terrific. The first night, we ate at the noisiest place in town, where smoking indoors is the norm, and where the band was just warming up in the corner. I could tell they were getting ready for a rowdy night in the big town of Jefferson, and I was about ready to fall asleep in my food, so I was hoping we’d be finished eating before they were finished setting up. The food was good, and the staff was so friendly and helpful, we couldn’t help but enjoy ourselves, and after we were through eating, I was feeling much better, and re-thinking the idea of taking off before the
festivities began. Lisa called and inquired about one of the hotels just outside of town (about a literal stone’s throw from the restaurant) called the Maison Bayou. It sounded rather fun, as each of the rooms they rent are little cabins. We followed the directions given by the owner, and found ourselves on a dark and winding dirt road with very few signs to guide us to the Maison. When we stopped, it wasn’t because we knew we were there, but because the house we came to looked quite a bit like the one in the advertisement.
Maison Bayou
We got out of the car and bravely made our way to the door to inquire about the room. The Maison looked nice, but we wanted to see what the rooms looked like before committing ourselves. The owner came to the door and invited us into the main room, where she showed us photos of the cabins, and helped us decide which would work best for our one night stay. She told us all about the area (way more than we needed to know) and then took us to the cabin we would be sharing.
The room had been closed up most of the day without any air circulation, so it was unbearably stuffy and hot when we entered. I couldn’t wait for the proprietress to leave so that we could lie down! It was a cute little place with rough-hewn walls, and the bathroom was separated from the main room by free-standing walls of split logs. There was a dresser, an armoire, a small desk, and a couple of chairs (one an old-fashioned rocker) in addition to the queen and twin beds that the room was furnished with. The queen bed was nearest to the window a/c unit, and knowing that it would take me a lot longer to cool off than it would take Lisa, I begged for the queen bed. Lisa was sweet to let me have it. She took the twin bed on the other side of the room, and from the looks of the support for it, it probably wouldn’t have held up under my weight, so it’s probably a good thing she slept on it.
We got ready for bed, and I read aloud from my Religions of the World textbook until Lisa fell asleep. I think I bored her to sleep, but I was too engrossed to put it aside until an hour later. I slept very soundly once I turned off the light. Lying in bed with the lights out made the sounds of the waterfront around our little cabin more apparent. Calls of toads and bullfrogs, crickets and other animals I couldn’t identify filled the night air. It was all rather surreal – like being on a movie set where the noises are canned and played back for effect. I felt like I was in another world.
The room had been closed up most of the day without any air circulation, so it was unbearably stuffy and hot when we entered. I couldn’t wait for the proprietress to leave so that we could lie down! It was a cute little place with rough-hewn walls, and the bathroom was separated from the main room by free-standing walls of split logs. There was a dresser, an armoire, a small desk, and a couple of chairs (one an old-fashioned rocker) in addition to the queen and twin beds that the room was furnished with. The queen bed was nearest to the window a/c unit, and knowing that it would take me a lot longer to cool off than it would take Lisa, I begged for the queen bed. Lisa was sweet to let me have it. She took the twin bed on the other side of the room, and from the looks of the support for it, it probably wouldn’t have held up under my weight, so it’s probably a good thing she slept on it.
We got ready for bed, and I read aloud from my Religions of the World textbook until Lisa fell asleep. I think I bored her to sleep, but I was too engrossed to put it aside until an hour later. I slept very soundly once I turned off the light. Lying in bed with the lights out made the sounds of the waterfront around our little cabin more apparent. Calls of toads and bullfrogs, crickets and other animals I couldn’t identify filled the night air. It was all rather surreal – like being on a movie set where the noises are canned and played back for effect. I felt like I was in another world.
Jefferson, Texas
The next morning, we gathered our belongings, took the keys back to the Maison, and headed for Jefferson to do a little shopping, but not before stopping in for breakfast at one of the little bakeries in town. We had a lovely meal, and were positively stuffed by the time we left.
Our first stop was the giant barn that was full of antique booths where we nearly suffocated from the heat. At first, it wasn’t too bad, but the longer we were there, the higher the sun rose, and the higher the temperature inside the barn rose, until we could feel the sweat running down our backs. It was stultifying, but there was so much to see, we couldn’t leave. I got a great deal on an older set of four hardbound Winnie the Pooh books, which I bought and then immediately gave to Lisa as part of her birthday present. I knew that if anyone would appreciate them, Lisa would. She found a beautiful little music box that played one of the Nutcracker Suite songs, and atop it was a scene from the ballet. It is the most precious little thing I’ve ever seen! She bought it for one of her girls.
We completely wore ourselves out with all the shops there were to see, and we only went to 5 or 6 of them - barely making a dent in this scenic little town. When we’d taken all we could, we drove around the town looking at the houses. It amazed me how many grand estate homes there were that had been converted into darling B&Bs. They dot the town all over, and each is just as cute as can be.
We completely wore ourselves out with all the shops there were to see, and we only went to 5 or 6 of them - barely making a dent in this scenic little town. When we’d taken all we could, we drove around the town looking at the houses. It amazed me how many grand estate homes there were that had been converted into darling B&Bs. They dot the town all over, and each is just as cute as can be.
At about 3:00-ish we went to our hotel to check in. It was the Excelsior Hotel, and it’s been around for something like 140 years. Lots of famous people have stayed there, and I think it’s one of the oldest hotels in Texas (probably the only one on the trail between Dallas and Shreveport), and it’s absolutely charming. It has high ceilings, old glass in the casement windows, and a beautiful little courtyard with a fountain in the sheltered inner courtyard that can be seen from the second story slanted balcony that runs entire distance of the L shaped building.
Our room was downstairs almost at the end of the hall, and when we walked in, I thought it was a darling room. There were white chenille bedspreads on the double beds, and a charming little chaise lounge upholstered in toile. There were toile curtains and pillows on the beds, and we dropped our luggage and fell onto the beds for a rest. I went into the bathroom a little while later, and noticed that it smelled strongly of mold. I thought I could live with it, since we were only staying one night. When I tried to wash my hands, though, the hot water took more than 5 minutes to heat up, and then it was only tepid. I never did get anything close to hot. In addition to these issues, the bathtub was dripping, which I knew would make me crazy at night, so I determined I would have to be sure to use my ear plugs that night (just in case it became louder than my snoring). After resting for a bit, we decided to sneak upstairs to see more of the historical hotel, and to our surprise, we found all of the room doors wide open, and nobody in sight to stop us from snooping. The rooms on this upper level were more opulent, with larger beds and bathrooms. They were all different, and all beautifully decorated in mid-19thcentury antiques. It was so much fun to look through them, but we did so quietly and quickly so that we wouldn’t be discovered. Then we hurried back down the stairs to the safety of our own room.
Warm and slightly stuffy air greeted us on our return, so we decided we should go get some dinner, hoping that the room would have a chance to cool off while we were gone. We both needed food badly, as we were dragging by now, having used the last of our energy reserves, and a bit of adrenaline, to get us up and down the long flight of stairs. We slowly made our way (a block or so away from the hotel) to Jefferson’s Old Fashion Hamburger Store And More, one of the restaurants that the Helpful Couple had recommended the night before, and sat down completely famished and worn out.
Our room was downstairs almost at the end of the hall, and when we walked in, I thought it was a darling room. There were white chenille bedspreads on the double beds, and a charming little chaise lounge upholstered in toile. There were toile curtains and pillows on the beds, and we dropped our luggage and fell onto the beds for a rest. I went into the bathroom a little while later, and noticed that it smelled strongly of mold. I thought I could live with it, since we were only staying one night. When I tried to wash my hands, though, the hot water took more than 5 minutes to heat up, and then it was only tepid. I never did get anything close to hot. In addition to these issues, the bathtub was dripping, which I knew would make me crazy at night, so I determined I would have to be sure to use my ear plugs that night (just in case it became louder than my snoring). After resting for a bit, we decided to sneak upstairs to see more of the historical hotel, and to our surprise, we found all of the room doors wide open, and nobody in sight to stop us from snooping. The rooms on this upper level were more opulent, with larger beds and bathrooms. They were all different, and all beautifully decorated in mid-19thcentury antiques. It was so much fun to look through them, but we did so quietly and quickly so that we wouldn’t be discovered. Then we hurried back down the stairs to the safety of our own room.
Warm and slightly stuffy air greeted us on our return, so we decided we should go get some dinner, hoping that the room would have a chance to cool off while we were gone. We both needed food badly, as we were dragging by now, having used the last of our energy reserves, and a bit of adrenaline, to get us up and down the long flight of stairs. We slowly made our way (a block or so away from the hotel) to Jefferson’s Old Fashion Hamburger Store And More, one of the restaurants that the Helpful Couple had recommended the night before, and sat down completely famished and worn out.
The humble restaurant’s tables were covered in red gingham plastic cloths, while the walls were covered in dollar bills from about waist height clear to the 9-foot high ceiling. They were stapled, taped, and thumb tacked to the walls. They were attached to the pictures on the walls, and to the support beams separating the different eating areas, which gave us something to distract ourselves with while they brought our drinks and cooked our food. We ended up ordering the shrimp dinner, and we couldn’t have made a better selection! It was the sweetest, softest, tastiest, and most succulent shrimp I have ever had anywhere. It was so light and fluffy that we agreed we could have sat there eating all night! It was just so good – definitely a meal we won’t soon forget! We both chose a piece of pie to eat later, and I bought some candy from their selection of fruity jellies that they sell at the cashier’s stand. I knew Steve would appreciate them more than anything else I could have chosen to bring home to him.
We were revived by our food, and enjoyed the walk back to our hotel much more than the one we’d taken in the opposite direction just an hour or so earlier. What a difference food can make! When we entered our room, we realized it was not any cooler than it had been before we left. In fact, it actually felt a bit warmer! All the issues with the bathroom aside, I knew I wouldn’t get any rest if we had to sleep in a room that was this hot, so I proposed we go and talk with the clerk to see if she could move us to another room.
When we presented our plight to the night clerk, she was so apologetic, and told us to go upstairs and choose from any of the rooms that we might like, and to come back down for a key. We chose the Ulysses S. Grant room because the bathroom in the other room with two beds also smelled of mold. The Grant room was beautiful, though, with lovely carved beds, antique chairs
and tables, and a great big claw foot tub in the bathroom (which had a clear window that looked right out onto the balcony!). The toilet was situated right next to the shutter-clad window, where one could sit and do one’s business while perusing the other tenants strolling along the balcony! Well, in theory one could do this, but since we were nearly the only people in the entire hotel, there wasn’t anyone to peek at, and I really did try!
We were revived by our food, and enjoyed the walk back to our hotel much more than the one we’d taken in the opposite direction just an hour or so earlier. What a difference food can make! When we entered our room, we realized it was not any cooler than it had been before we left. In fact, it actually felt a bit warmer! All the issues with the bathroom aside, I knew I wouldn’t get any rest if we had to sleep in a room that was this hot, so I proposed we go and talk with the clerk to see if she could move us to another room.
When we presented our plight to the night clerk, she was so apologetic, and told us to go upstairs and choose from any of the rooms that we might like, and to come back down for a key. We chose the Ulysses S. Grant room because the bathroom in the other room with two beds also smelled of mold. The Grant room was beautiful, though, with lovely carved beds, antique chairs
and tables, and a great big claw foot tub in the bathroom (which had a clear window that looked right out onto the balcony!). The toilet was situated right next to the shutter-clad window, where one could sit and do one’s business while perusing the other tenants strolling along the balcony! Well, in theory one could do this, but since we were nearly the only people in the entire hotel, there wasn’t anyone to peek at, and I really did try!
We didn’t have much time to look the room over, however, because we had made reservations to take a small boat cruise on Caddo Lake that evening at 7:00, and the drive to get to Caddo was supposed to take about 20 minutes, so after getting our bags and such toted up the stairs, we hurried back down to the car, and drove to Caddo.
Caddo Lake Boat Tour
We had no idea what we were in for, and we came almost completely unprepared. The reason I say “almost” is because neither of us forgot our cameras or bug spray – but we didn’t think about bringing water. When we found the right location, our guide suggested we get some water at the little restaurant back down the road a piece, and come back once we had it, because he knew we were going to need some. I don’t know why we didn’t think of it in the first place. I had envisioned that we would be helping to row in some dude’s fishing boat, and I was reluctant to get all sweaty and uncomfortable, knowing this would be the case if we were required to exert ourselves in this hot and humid climate. When Lisa asked the tour guide (while on the phone during our morning shopping excursion) if we would be rowing the boat, I hear he had a pretty good laugh at our expense – I don’t think he’d ever heard that one before. It was, however, a legitimate question, since just last September, when Lisa and I were visiting her mother in Virginia, Al (Lisa’s step-father) took we three women out on the Potomacin a canoe, and we all pulled our weight with oars! Near the end of our tour through the bayou of CaddoLake I explained this to our guide, and then our question made a little more sense. I think he must have had the impression that Lisa and I had never left the big city in our lives, because we came so unprepared, and because of my reluctance to get all sweaty. Oh well – it’s a good thing we weren’t trying to impress anyone with our outdoorswomen skills!
Our guide’s story was a sad one with a happy ending. I will call him John, because I can’t remember what his real name is (maybe it is John, but I just can’t remember). At any rate, John had grown up just a mile or so from where he lives now. His parents, he told us, were both alcoholics, and his mother left when he was only 13 years old. He said that the lake became his refuge, his best friend, and his parents, as he would go out in his little boat (the kind you have to row) all by himself and sometimes not return home for days. He would come home after these absences to a father who hadn’t even been aware he was gone. What a lonely and frightening experience it must have been for him. He dropped out of school early, but was watched over by some loving people who helped him out in any way they could, and now he has a good business and a family of his own, and he seems to have pulled himself up to a place he can be proud of. He is well-known as the resident expert guide on the lake. He told us that a Texas university that was doing a study of the wildlife of the lake requested that our John listen to the taped recordings of different frog calls so that he could identify which of these species lived on the lake. He can now tell the difference between the many species of indigenous frogs, and named quite a few of them for us as our tour progressed.
He noted that we both had Canon digital cameras, and was so excited to find that we all shared a love of photography. He, too, had a Canon digital. In fact, his was just like mine, only a model year or two older. A well-to-do photographer who had befriended John years ago had decided to make a gift of the camera and all of its accessories to him, because he himself was getting too old to use it any longer. There could not have been a more grateful recipient of any gift on the face of the planet.
John’s boat had two fishing-type chairs on the front, one behind the other, and they swiveled around 360° to allow one to have a complete view in all directions. Lisa sat in the front, and I was right behind her. Our guide sat at the rear and controlled the prop motor. The propeller was very small, and could swivel up high, right out of the water, which allowed the boat to go through the most shallow of waters. Our guide took us into places that no other boats would dare to travel, and we saw some amazing sights; the lotus flowers with leaves the size of a turkey platter rising up out of the water 2 feet, herons and kingfishers with their awesome wings flying away as they saw our pending approach, and the setting sun creating a myriad of warm hues through and around the branches of the Bald Cypress trees that dripped Spanish moss from nearly every branch. I felt transported to another world, in another time. It was like being on a ride at Disneyland, only it was real, and we were alone, and completely immersed in this very stimulating surreal experience.
Our guide’s story was a sad one with a happy ending. I will call him John, because I can’t remember what his real name is (maybe it is John, but I just can’t remember). At any rate, John had grown up just a mile or so from where he lives now. His parents, he told us, were both alcoholics, and his mother left when he was only 13 years old. He said that the lake became his refuge, his best friend, and his parents, as he would go out in his little boat (the kind you have to row) all by himself and sometimes not return home for days. He would come home after these absences to a father who hadn’t even been aware he was gone. What a lonely and frightening experience it must have been for him. He dropped out of school early, but was watched over by some loving people who helped him out in any way they could, and now he has a good business and a family of his own, and he seems to have pulled himself up to a place he can be proud of. He is well-known as the resident expert guide on the lake. He told us that a Texas university that was doing a study of the wildlife of the lake requested that our John listen to the taped recordings of different frog calls so that he could identify which of these species lived on the lake. He can now tell the difference between the many species of indigenous frogs, and named quite a few of them for us as our tour progressed.
He noted that we both had Canon digital cameras, and was so excited to find that we all shared a love of photography. He, too, had a Canon digital. In fact, his was just like mine, only a model year or two older. A well-to-do photographer who had befriended John years ago had decided to make a gift of the camera and all of its accessories to him, because he himself was getting too old to use it any longer. There could not have been a more grateful recipient of any gift on the face of the planet.
John’s boat had two fishing-type chairs on the front, one behind the other, and they swiveled around 360° to allow one to have a complete view in all directions. Lisa sat in the front, and I was right behind her. Our guide sat at the rear and controlled the prop motor. The propeller was very small, and could swivel up high, right out of the water, which allowed the boat to go through the most shallow of waters. Our guide took us into places that no other boats would dare to travel, and we saw some amazing sights; the lotus flowers with leaves the size of a turkey platter rising up out of the water 2 feet, herons and kingfishers with their awesome wings flying away as they saw our pending approach, and the setting sun creating a myriad of warm hues through and around the branches of the Bald Cypress trees that dripped Spanish moss from nearly every branch. I felt transported to another world, in another time. It was like being on a ride at Disneyland, only it was real, and we were alone, and completely immersed in this very stimulating surreal experience.
Flora and Fauna of Caddo Lake
John knew the names of every plant we passed. He pointed out the beaver dams, and the raw tree trunks where the beavers had recently worked to fell a tree. He explained about the beaver’s need to continually chew because of the fact that their front teeth never stop growing. We spent a good 10 minutes in one place just listening to an owl call, while the frogs and toads continued to send warnings of our pending arrival across the lake. John knew that the strange-looking shorter stumpy things that surround the Bald Cypress trees are called “knees”. He knew which animals were making what noises, and when he would stop the engine to allow us to listen to the world around us, we marveled at all the different calls being made and answered. John identified them all so that we could better appreciate the experience. He told us stories of past excursions, about funny things that have happened to him as a tour guide, including the time his boat broke down and he and his two female occupants had to get out into the mud and push the boat back to the dock, and he told us a few stories that are too risqué to bear repeating on these pages, but suffice it to say that he has a very interesting, and sometimes embarrassing job!
While sitting quietly listening and watching the last rays of the sun gently fade, John said, “Well, ladies, it’s been two hours now. Tell me what you’d like to do. Do you want to take more time, or should we head back to the dock?” I think we both could have stayed for a few hours more, just enjoying the tranquility of the night and the sounds around us, but we knew it was going to be too costly to do so, and we reluctantly agreed it was time to return to the dock. “Well then,” John replied, “this is the part of the tour where I usually thank the person in the front for being the bug shield for the rest of us!” and with that, he started up the engine and swiftly maneuvered the boat back toward his home. We were squealing with laughter as Lisa picked up one of the seat cushions and held it in front of her face to deflect the bugs that John was not kidding about! She kept yelling, "I think one just went up my nose!" I’m sure we inhaled six or eight of the little critters in our peals of hysteria. We could not stop laughing because our hair was going everywhere, and we were sucking in bugs with every breath, and each time we did, we laughed all the harder. The light on the front of the boat allowed us to see what looked like a thick cloud of dust in the air, but being on the lake, we knew it couldn’t be dust. The only thing we could think it might be is perhaps spores from the Spanish moss. Once I realized this was in the air, I covered my mouth and nose, and tried to keep from laughing any more, because I knew it would make me sick if I inhaled much of it.
As we entered the finger of the lake that John’s house was on, we passed small boat docks – John’s neighbors. They were lit with hanging lanterns that swung in the breeze, and there were a few folks out sitting around campfires – their laughter ringing out across the water and into the tree-covered hilly shore on the opposite side, passing our ears on its way. It was a happy place, this CaddoLake, where good times were to be had, and friendly people were yet to be met. It was too short a visit, but what fond memories we carried away with us as we hugged our guide and thanked him for this life-changing experience he had provided two“citified” women. I think I experienced serenity at a new level out there on the lake, and I may never have that same feeling again. I only wish our husbands had been there to experience it with us.
We drove back to Jefferson City in a lovely haze – not yet ready to enter the real world – and the Excelsior Hotel allowed us to remain in that state of living in another time. We went to our room and we each took our turn showering the bugs off our faces, and brushing them out of our teeth, and slipped between our crisp white sheets. Lisa, while I was showering, was reading the guest book that each room had in it. Ours was full of stories from past guests who claimed that they had seen ghosts, or that they wished they had seen ghosts, or that they knew someone whose sister’s next-door-neighbor had heard that there were ghosts in this room, and that they had come to stay here to find out if it was truly haunted. We had no idea that the town is known for its ghosts (they even have a Friday night walking tour of the haunted places in the city!), and we were amused by the reports in the guest book.
We drove back to Jefferson City in a lovely haze – not yet ready to enter the real world – and the Excelsior Hotel allowed us to remain in that state of living in another time. We went to our room and we each took our turn showering the bugs off our faces, and brushing them out of our teeth, and slipped between our crisp white sheets. Lisa, while I was showering, was reading the guest book that each room had in it. Ours was full of stories from past guests who claimed that they had seen ghosts, or that they wished they had seen ghosts, or that they knew someone whose sister’s next-door-neighbor had heard that there were ghosts in this room, and that they had come to stay here to find out if it was truly haunted. We had no idea that the town is known for its ghosts (they even have a Friday night walking tour of the haunted places in the city!), and we were amused by the reports in the guest book.
Grant's Tomb, I Mean Room
Lisa fell asleep to me reading aloud from my Religions of the World textbook for the second night in a row (I don’t know how she could have fallen asleep to it – it was so fascinating!), and I quit reading aloud, and eventually fell asleep myself. I awoke at some point in the night, and needed to use the bathroom, but I fell right back asleep when my head hit the pillow. Not long afterwards, I heard Lisa get up and go into the bathroom. She turned on the light, and I remember wondering if perhaps it was time to get up, thinking that I was still very tired, and not at all ready to stop sleeping. She left the bathroom and instead of coming to awaken me, she went to the window, where the a/c unit was humming, and just as she clicked the knob to adjust the temperature, an fire alarm went off somewhere in the very near vicinity. I laid there wondering what in the world it could be, and thought that perhaps it was coming from the direction of one of the surrounding buildings. Lisa was still clicking the knobs on the air conditioner, and I heard her get up and move around the room a bit, and then the alarm finally quit ringing. By this time, she was back in bed, I guess.
A few minutes later, a fire truck with sirens blaring could be heard approaching our hotel from a distance, but instead of passing by us, it continued to wake the dead right outside of our hotel. I did my best to ignore it, determined that I was NOT going to get up yet, but Lisa’s curiosity got the better of her, and she went to the window. I went back to sleep, not having opened my eyes through any of the ordeal since the time I had seen Lisa squatting down next to the air conditioner.
When morning finally came, Lisa told me about her experiences with the a/c, and I thought I would die with laughter. She said she had strange dreams, having the eerie experiences of ghost hunters floating in her head just before bed-time, and she had awakened cold, so, after going into the bathroom, she had approached the a/c to turn it down. The minute she turned the knob, the alarm went off, and she thought that the a/c must be rigged to trigger the alarm if the temperature was changed. She then tried turning it back to see if it would turn the alarm off, but it wouldn’t stop ringing. After several attempts to make it stop, she ran to her bed and buried herself under the covers, not knowing what else to do.
Moments later, she heard sirens and could see the reflections of the moving colored lights dance about the walls of the room (our curtains were just thin sheers, with no blinds behind them), and she was sure they would be coming up to our haunted haven at any moment to evacuate us because she had started the building on fire, or because she had touched a button on the a/c that was forbidden. In anticipation of being forced out of our cozy environs, Lisa put her pj’s on, and got back into bed, awaiting the imminent knock at the door. (I noticed that she didn’t bother to tell me that I might need my pj’s on!) She waited and waited, but no knock came, and eventually, the moving lights were turned off and the police cars and fire truck went back from whence they came, probably disappointed that there wasn’t a real disaster to save anyone from. I don’t know if Lisa ever got back to sleep, but since I didn’t know she was having this personal dilemma over the whole noisy experience, I obliviously went back to sleep and stayed there until she brought me out of my stupor hours later.
We spent the entire day laughing about the crazy ghost alarm, and how strange it was. Lisa also told me that I was snoring through the whole event, so she thought that I had slept through it all, which was not the case at all. How strange that I could be awake, and yet still snoring… Maybe the ghost in the room was making a snoring sound so that Lisa would just think I was still asleep! Very curious…
We had to leave Jefferson City that day, but not before we enjoyed a most elegant breakfast in the hotel’s sunroom just off the enclosed courtyard. We had eggs and ham, and little muffins, along with fresh-squeezed orange juice. It was a very beautiful experience. Afterwards, we took a few pictures of our haunted room, gathered our belongings and packed up the car. We shopped in a few more antique shops, and bought some old-fashioned candy and fabulous fudge at a candy shop, and then headed south out of town. We took a scenic route back to Dallas, entering the city from the north, and barely made it in time for an award ceremony that Lisa’s daughter, Heather, was being honored at.
It was a truly delightful couple of days, and hopefully, it won’t be the last time that Lisa and I find ways and reasons to laugh until we’re sick.
A few minutes later, a fire truck with sirens blaring could be heard approaching our hotel from a distance, but instead of passing by us, it continued to wake the dead right outside of our hotel. I did my best to ignore it, determined that I was NOT going to get up yet, but Lisa’s curiosity got the better of her, and she went to the window. I went back to sleep, not having opened my eyes through any of the ordeal since the time I had seen Lisa squatting down next to the air conditioner.
When morning finally came, Lisa told me about her experiences with the a/c, and I thought I would die with laughter. She said she had strange dreams, having the eerie experiences of ghost hunters floating in her head just before bed-time, and she had awakened cold, so, after going into the bathroom, she had approached the a/c to turn it down. The minute she turned the knob, the alarm went off, and she thought that the a/c must be rigged to trigger the alarm if the temperature was changed. She then tried turning it back to see if it would turn the alarm off, but it wouldn’t stop ringing. After several attempts to make it stop, she ran to her bed and buried herself under the covers, not knowing what else to do.
Moments later, she heard sirens and could see the reflections of the moving colored lights dance about the walls of the room (our curtains were just thin sheers, with no blinds behind them), and she was sure they would be coming up to our haunted haven at any moment to evacuate us because she had started the building on fire, or because she had touched a button on the a/c that was forbidden. In anticipation of being forced out of our cozy environs, Lisa put her pj’s on, and got back into bed, awaiting the imminent knock at the door. (I noticed that she didn’t bother to tell me that I might need my pj’s on!) She waited and waited, but no knock came, and eventually, the moving lights were turned off and the police cars and fire truck went back from whence they came, probably disappointed that there wasn’t a real disaster to save anyone from. I don’t know if Lisa ever got back to sleep, but since I didn’t know she was having this personal dilemma over the whole noisy experience, I obliviously went back to sleep and stayed there until she brought me out of my stupor hours later.
We spent the entire day laughing about the crazy ghost alarm, and how strange it was. Lisa also told me that I was snoring through the whole event, so she thought that I had slept through it all, which was not the case at all. How strange that I could be awake, and yet still snoring… Maybe the ghost in the room was making a snoring sound so that Lisa would just think I was still asleep! Very curious…
We had to leave Jefferson City that day, but not before we enjoyed a most elegant breakfast in the hotel’s sunroom just off the enclosed courtyard. We had eggs and ham, and little muffins, along with fresh-squeezed orange juice. It was a very beautiful experience. Afterwards, we took a few pictures of our haunted room, gathered our belongings and packed up the car. We shopped in a few more antique shops, and bought some old-fashioned candy and fabulous fudge at a candy shop, and then headed south out of town. We took a scenic route back to Dallas, entering the city from the north, and barely made it in time for an award ceremony that Lisa’s daughter, Heather, was being honored at.
It was a truly delightful couple of days, and hopefully, it won’t be the last time that Lisa and I find ways and reasons to laugh until we’re sick.