Original oil painting by: Grandfather’s wife
Grandfather remembers the family trip to Maine.
That was in 1961 and the family was Grandfather-yet-to-be, Grandmother-yet-to-be, a three-and-a-half-year-old daughter and a one-year-old son.
The son was left with friends and the “Three Remainders” took off, in a 1959 VW Beetle, loaded as follows: 5.5-horsepower Johnson outboard motor on top, a 12-foot fiberglass boat over that, and an ice chest slung with rope from the transom of the boat so it hung down behind the car.
Inside, tent and camping stuff. Parents in front seats; Daughter in the cubbyhole behind the back seat, over the engine.
We started out from Arlington, Virginia, in what was to be a 24-hour steady rain. Near Baltimore, the wipers failed and Grandfather drove the rest of the way with his face a few inches from the windshield, peering through the rain.
Eventually we arrived at our destination in Baxter State Park, where the campground was flooded and we were directed to an alternate site. Grandfather pitched the tent. There were no pop-tents in those days; no siree, Bob. Tent, poles, stakes, and rope.
The tent collapsed on us in the middle of the night, but we just waited inside ’til dawn. There was no dry place anywhere else.
Then, Grandfather got the Coleman gasoline stove fired up and Grandmother started breakfast. Grandfather heard Daughter say “No! I want to go camping!” (Grandmother had suggested she ask Grandfather if they could go home.)
Well, the middle of the trip was as we had hoped. Some native trout fishing. Climbing Mount Katahdin; icy snowbanks up there, in July. Beautiful scenery. The fresh, bracing air only to be found in Northern latitudes and plenty of fiddleheads (look it up) to pick and eat with the trout. That was the middle. Now, as Paul Harvey used to say, “The Rest of the Story:”
Coming back home, somewhere north of New York City, the engine quit. No spark. On Sunday, of course; remember Murphy’s Law?
Grandfather found a phone booth (no cellphones, in those days) and got the home phone number of a local auto parts store owner in the phone book, who was kind enough to open his store and sell Grandfather the points and condenser the engine’s distributor needed for its restoration. Then Grandfather got the engine running again and that was that.
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About the Author: RD Blakeslee is an octogenarian from West Virginia who built his net worth by only investing in that which can be enjoyed during acquisition and throughout life, as opposed to papers in a drawer, like stocks and bonds. You can read more about him here.
Photos: Courtesy of the Blakeslee Family
I was stationed in Germany with the Army, a helicopter mechanic, in the early 70’s. Your photo of the Beetle reminds me of 3 weeks I spent on leave in Europe in our Beetle….wife, my mother, my two grown sisters and luggage for all 5 of us….truly one of those Chevy Chase type vacations….ahahhaaaaa.
Another time (in the States) I pulled up behind a gal driving Corvair…..America’s air cooled engine experiment.
It had quit in the middle of traffic. I was a bit of a shade tree mechanic at the time, before you had to have a computer to diagnose anything, and popped the distributor cap off. Saw the points had worn the block down that rode the cam, and wouldn’t open. I loosened them with a screwdriver, set them with a piece of paper between points for a feeler gauge, and the car fired up and away she went !
Used to be one could simple fix a lot of things on cars with a screwdriver & few wrenches, but those days are long gone…….and I sorta miss them.
Andy, Just you wait ’til Len publishes :Grandfather Says” about the cars We’ve owned!
E.g: when you change an engine on an early 1960s Saab Model 93 …
Ah, Grandfather, this brings back memories of many camping trips with my two kids, the only kind of vacation we could afford for many years.
I can see my oldest and I trying to get the Grumman off the top of my 89 Raider without scratching up the vehicle. (We put a blanket over the hood.) I can see a friend and I trying to set up a tarp at night in front of the fire in a thunderstorm, having the poles pop out of the soggy ground, us underneath laughing hysterically bouncing the tarp up and down, as the ranger drove by probably wondering what this new form of entertainment was.
My kids learned early on that it was paramount to keep your clothes from touching the sides of the tent, or you wore wet clothes.
And an old acquaintance was accurate when he said, “If it ain’t rained, you ain’t been campin.”
Thanks for contributing your camping experiences, gee.
Campers of the World should Unite!
Our values could yet save the world. *chuckle*
I can’t git ‘er dun anymore, and accept Historic Camper Non-Emeritus status ..
Sounds like you had quite a time up here in Maine! I’m glad you found time to enjoy some fiddleheads while you were here. Families around here tend to keep their fiddlehead gathering spots secret, much like you might keep your favorite fishing hole a secret.
Baxter State Park, in my opinion, is one of the most beautiful places in the country!
I live in Kansas. My hubby and I went with some friends to Maine last summer (it was our first time) and had a great time. Very beautiful and now I can see why the state is called America’s Vacationland.
Baxter State is, indeed, wonderful. The view from high up on Nount Katahdin is spectacular!
A kind, older couple camping nearby told us about fiddleheads and where to find them. Campers are special people; See gee’s post, above.
Learned something new about Grandfather, Grandmother and two older siblings! I only remember camping in the Upper Peninsula of Michigan at the Iron Mountain area.
Ellen is Honorable daughter No.2 – Hi, Dear.
You were in the future at the time of The family trip to Maine.