Legacy

This is a tale of a family trip that looked like it was going well at the start, but then unknowingly started going wrong.  When that fact was ascertained, going wrong had become gone wrong.  How did it all end?  Well first let me tell you how it all started.

There are five male members of the Wesson Family.  Grandpa Gary of Fort Wayne, Indiana, his son Chris from Portland Oregon,  and his son Rick, and two Grandsons, Alex and Aaron, of Wheaton, Illinois; that’s near Chicago.

Grandpa Gary had always wanted to see the North Eastern part of the United States in the fall, to take in the beautiful foliages of Autumn, and to finalize the trip with a Clambake on a sandy Maine Beach.  After much suggesting on Grandpas part it became a family get together activity to take such a trip.  The family members of the female persuasion were not going along as they had duties that prevented it.  So it would be a guy thing.  Don’t tell anyone, but the guys liked the idea of a guy thing.

It was agreed that they would all meet in Rick’s town of Wheaton since three of them were already there, and take a train from there to Augusta, Maine.  So with much anticipation of a wonderful time the tickets were secured. They departed about ten in the morning.  It was a bright, sunny cheerful day.  They sat close to each other and were quite busy gabbing and exchanging war stories as they say.  Before they knew it night had fallen and they retired to their sleeper car for the night.

The next morning they got up well rested and cheerful, had a wonderful breakfast in the dinning car.  They had just gotten settled back into their seats when the conductor said the normal fifteen minutes at the next stop would be extended to forty five minutes because the engine was experiencing some mechanical problems and a replacement was being dispatched to hook up.

They didn’t feel that was a problem, they welcomed the chance to stretch their legs a bit.  They noticed that near the station down by a local river there was a festival of some kind going on.  Since it was only a couple of blocks walk, they decided to check it out.

It was an October Fest, German Festival complete with Polka Dancers.  It was a fun thing to watch.  Time was passing more quickly than they thought, when they looked at their watches they had only fifteen minutes left before the train would depart again.

So they all started back, that’s when Grandpa  noticed a small crowd gathering on the riverbank watching a fisherman trying to land a really big fish.  He said go ahead I’ll catch up with you.  They did and Grandpa watched with fascination the fisher man struggle with that fish.  Never saw it landed, because Grandpa looked at his watch and realized only five minutes till the train would depart.

So hurrying as fast as his old legs and cane could carry him, he went back to the station with only two minutes to spare. Whoa! he said, the train is gone.  They must have pulled out five minutes early, not fair.  Grandpa knew the next stop was Augusta so he figured if he could find a taxi to get him there as fast as possible he might just be able to hook back up with the others before they gave up on him and left the station.

Well to make matters worse, it was a small town and no such transportation was available. Grandpa then knew he had no choice but to wait for the next train which wouldn’t come by for three hours.

While waiting and stewing himself into a dither, he asked the station master just what and where is this whistle stop.  The station manager replied “Tupulo”.  Grandpa said cute name, didn’t know there was such a place in Maine.

The station master paused and gasped a bit, not knowing what was with that old bird. Then he said, Sir, Tupulo isn’t in Maine, its here in Georgia. Now Grandpa got that stunned ox look and a oh, oh awareness crept over him.

He painfully realized that when  the train station in Chicago announced bla, bla, bla, a string of almost auctioneer fast reading of destinations that ended with Augusta, which is all that registered with the group, was leaving on track five, the group boarded on track five.  Only now was it becoming clear that the announcer was talking about Augusta, Georgia and not Augusta, Maine.

Right name, wrong train, wrong state.  Grandpa figured that he’d go ahead and go into the wrong Augusta, hoping the others would be there waiting.  At which point they would figure out their next move.  Grandpa finally got to Augusta and no one was waiting.

Later he would find out they realized the mistake and also figured Grandpa was a big boy and could take care of himself.  That was true, but not without a lot of anxiety.  Grandpa had no way of knowing the others had decided to make the best of it and use the time they had to see some scenic tourist spots in Georgia.

Grandpa then decided the best thing to do is call home to his wife and explain how wrong things had gone.  He did and she thought it was funny; Grandpa however was not amused.  He said the only thing he could do under the circumstance was to go to the Augusta airport and fly home to Fort Wayne.

Well by the time he got there, the others had communicated to their Grandma what had happened.  She was feeling a little less funny and did her best to comfort Grandpa, even though it was common knowledge later that she had to bite her tongue to keep from laughing again.

Now Grandpa was a stubborn old bird, and if nothing else he was going to have a group Clambake on a sandy beach or else.  Salvage what he could so to speak.

So when everyone gathered at his house for Christmas.  Fortunately not a white one.  They found Grandpa had got a load of sand and spread it on the concrete patio.  In spite of the rather brisk temperatures, had a sand filled pan on top of a portable fire pit, and was baking a bunch of clams.

Needless to say this whole fiasco will be the subject of talk at family gatherings for years.  But to top it off in addition to the localized beach bit and the fine baked clams, there were steamed crabs, lobsters and corn on the cob to complete the seafood feast.

It was mighty good, and an extra feast, because the next day there would be the traditional menu for the Christmas feast. Goes to show it’s hard to get ahead of a tough old bird.  It will be remembered as the finest of Christmas‘s, feast wise.