Leavin' Louisiana come hell or high water

Evenin', Campers! Hire u? (That's a common Texas greeting and it's pronounced precisely as written). It's Silver Cliche' here writing to you tonight from beautiful Mission Tejas State Park in Weches, Texas.

We were determined to get out of Louisiana today come hell or high water. Fortunately, we didn't see any hell. We saw plenty of high water. Thanks to the approach of an early morning thunderstorm, Mrs. C' and I were awakened by two frantic dogs. (Both of our traveling companions are terrified of thunder). Looking at the bright side, fresh brewed Starbucks may taste even better at 5:00 AM than at 7:00. The rain hadn't hit us yet. The thunder was coming from a storm that the Weather Channel said would miss us. We had until about 9:00 before the next wave would hit. So, we planned to chill, wait for the sun to rise, hitch up, and break camp about 8:30. The perfect getaway (or so we assumed).

At 7:30 the skies opened up. Living in a tin can on wheels has many advantages which you frequently hear me extoll. Falling asleep to the sound of gentle rain on the metal roof is one advantage I've never written about… very relaxing and peaceful. However, sitting out a deluge is not so peaceful. It's like living in a soup can at the wrong end of a BB-gun range. No, make that a shotgun shell test facility. The kind for shot shells used in machine guns. Yeah, that's about right. Conversation goes from a casual “Would you like more coffee, dear?” to “WHAT? I CAN'T HEAR YOU.” followed by “I ASKED 'HOW LONG IS THIS SUPPOSED TO LAST?' ” then “DID YOU SAY THE GUMBO FROM LAST NIGHT GAVE YOU GAS?” oh… the joys of camping and seeing America!

Given the deluge we pushed back the departure time to “whenever o'clock”. We only had a 3 hour drive planned for today. No problem. At about 8:00 both of our cell phones let out a siren. It was an emergency alert from the National Weather Service that the extreme thunderstorm warning they had already released had been upgraded to an imminent threat of flash floods IN OUR AREA. I looked out the trailer's back window. You know, the one that looked toward the small stream that drained the campground. I performed a quick topographical assessment of the campground and realized that we were parked in the lowest lying campsite in the entire campground. The stream behind us was swollen, but not visibly rising (yet). I have never been in a flash flood, but I've always concluded that the difference between the “flash” variety and, oh, let's say a “plain old ordinary” flood was speed. I didn't know where our little stream drained, but I figured that as soon as the water level in that body of water started to rise then our stream would move toward us pretty quickly. I had visions of being filmed by the local TV station some hours later and saying “Well, we were enjoying coffee and the morning crossword puzzle like we always do when we realized that the trailer was floating away toward Lake Charles. You know what these waterways look like from the air, right? Well we had passed the stomach and about reached the ascending colon by the time we tossed the dogs to safety on a muddy bank and climbed a tree after them.” Like Scrooge being visited by the Ghost of Christmas Yet to Come, I realized that I could control my own future. I told Mrs. C' that our plan to depart “whenever” needed to be changed to “damn soon” or we might be the teaser followed by some TV yokel saying “watch the complete story at 11:00 after tonight's episode of 'The Voice.' ” So I got on my raincoat and headed outside to hitch up and ready for the road. 20 minutes later the stream had gone nowhere… but we had.

Up to this point of the trip we've been heading West. That changed immediately upon departure this morning as we changed course to Northwest. If the FAA had been directing us then an Air Traffic Controller would have said “Silver Cliche' turn right heading three-one-five” to which I would have gladly replied “affirmative, three-one-five on the heading” and we would have beat feet for the Texas line.

If you look at Google maps and center in on Lake Charles, Louisiana you will notice that Lake Charles sits on a very clear division between coastal flood plain to the south and forest to the north. That band continues around much of the Gulf Coast. We had spent most of the trip within 20 feet of sea level and within 30 or 40 miles of open water. With our new heading in the GPS we quickly entered forest land. The agriculture (sugar cane) and aquaculture (crawfish) that we had seen all day yesterday was completely gone. In its place were stands of pine forest, the occasional logging truck (it was Saturday) and roadside equipment lots with fellers and skidders (not fellows and their sisters… big time logging equipment). In under an hour we crossed the Sabine River and rolled into Texas. The scenery didn't change much as we crossed, but our attitude did. We had spent half of our nights on the road so far in Louisiana. We had seen no rain before entering the Fleur-de-lis state (Is that what they call it? They should. You see that darned symbol everywhere there!) and it had rained… no, check that… poured every day we were there. As a sign that we were not imagining that. 10 minutes after entering Texas the sun popped out, quickly followed by a totally clear sky and temps around 80. I like Texas.

So, we thundered across east Texas through the Angelina National Forest and the Davy Crocket National Forest. I say “thundered” because the speed limit most of the way on simple two lane state roads was 75. I'm guessing the locals would describe our style of travel as “lumbered” since I was doing 65 and they were passing me faster than a goose passes green grass (sorry… this must be my week for intestinal metaphors. Let's hope that passes. Sorry again. I'll try harder next week.) I have never been to east Texas before. I knew it wasn't like central and west Texas, or like the gulf coast. It was a pleasant drive. It was not the horrifying, decay that I named “Americountry” the other night. It was generally well kept even where not modern. Much of it was National Forest land, so that was literally a paved strip through forest. We drove through numerous small towns and two “cities” – Jasper and Lufkin. By 1:00 we had arrived at Mission Tejas State Park.

So, let's talk about Mission Tejas (pronounce in the Spanish style… tay-haas). There actually is a “mission” here. It's about 100' from our campsite. Here, let me show you a pic I took this afternoon:

This isn't the Mission Tejas. It may or may not even be on the site of the original mission. It's a recreation from modern times of a building that may or may not have been here and may or may not have looked like that. We know that there was a structure built in 1690 by the Spanish as a base to convert the local Somethingoranother tribe of natives to Christianity. Nice folks, the Spanish. Note the year – 1690. I don't know about you, but I recall the Pilgrims landed in 1620 and there was a bit of activity up and down the east coast of North America. Sort of like an ant colony when the first few ants find the picnic… but not a full blown onslaught. I also think of the West Coast in full bloom in the 1850's with the gold rush. Maybe I think of West Texas in the 1800+ era and the Alamo. I do not think of a place 150 miles from the Gulf of Mexico in dense pine forests which is (evidently) the Las Vegas for mosquitoes (Let's Party!!!) as a place where Spanish Catholic priests were hanging out in the 1690's – but it was. Now, before we ascribe their presence and sacrifice solely to their devotion to the greater glory of God we need to look around. By 1690 it was clear that the French had gained a foothold on the center of North America down to and including the Gulf Coast of present day Alabama (remember Bayou La Batrie is in Alabama) and Louisiana. The Spanish were losing out on what they came here for – loot. So, in addition to the pursuit of the greater glory of God, they came here to recruit Native Americans to their cause in a flanking action against the French. It was warfare and the Bible was their weapon of choice. This idea of using priests as soldiers never reached this level of public acceptance again, although it came close when the first Gulf War and the Catholic priest child abuse scandal opened up at the same time.

Back to the Mission… after a few short years the Spanish and the Natives were at each other. The Natives believed the communion water was contaminated and infecting their people with diseases (The Spanish themselves were more likely the source. It would be over 100 more years before Louis Pasteur would describe how all that worked). The Spanish believed the Natives were stealing their stuff. It ended badly... the Mission was destroyed... the Spanish fled... the French sold the Louisiana Purchase to the fledgling United States about 100 years later and pocketed beaucoup coin... and the only things left behind by the Spanish are diseases and food names. Then 300 years later some folks built that new Mission building so Mrs. C' and I could come here and I could tell the story again. Not bad.

So, tomorrow on to just south of Dallas. We'll take Monday off the road before heading into the Texas Panhandle (do the people there call themselves “panhandlers”? I'll have to go find out.).

Later…

SC'