Discover the Lost Coast: With Two Little Girls with Sausage Curls

By V. Catania-Robertson

Awake each morning to the silence made by a moist fog lying down upon the shores of the coast. By noon the sun has come out and sea birds are at work flying above the many fishermen out on the water trying their luck. Seal, Whales, an occasional walrus, or sea otter can be seen frolicking tot far from the shore. The tidal pools are some of the richest in all of California. In 1924, the McArthurs discovered Shelter Cove. For the next thirty-eight years their children and grandchildren spent their summers at the ranch, meeting each day with expectations of yet another adventure. Never were they disappointed. Though the scenery has changed, The Lost Coast is still an exciting wilderness. The mountains jut straight up from the Pacific Ocean making travel difficult. There are few roads. The Black Sands Beach is known for its wild beauty. If you choose to go hiking or camping inland, be prepared to encounter a badger, a California condor, or a golden eagle along with the many other kinds of birds. Dont be surprised to discover youll want to come back every summer after that! Join two little girls with the Sausage Curls who tell you their story and discover the Lost Coast.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Aug 30, 2010
• ISBN: 9781453521939

Book preview

Copyright © 2010 by V. Catania-Robertson.

Library of Congress Control Number:   2010908656

ISBN:   Hardcover   978-1-4535-2192-2

ISBN:   Softcover   978-1-4535-2191-5

ISBN:   Ebook   978-1-4535-2193-9

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the copyright owner.

This book was printed in the United States of America.

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Contents

Chapter One: Weaverville

Chapter Two: Tom Lazio

Chapter Three: Skunks

Chapter Four: Social Life

Chapter Five: Honeydew

Chapter Six: Morning Walk

Chapter Seven: Gondola

Chapter Eight: Saturday Night Dance

Chapter Nine: Slaughter

Chapter Ten: Southern Route

Chapter Eleven: Sheep Dogs

Chapter Twelve: Lula

Chapter Thirteen: The Banana Belt

Chapter Fourteen: Black Sands Beach

Chapter Fifteen: Side Hill Salmon

Chapter Sixteen: Helen & Me

Sources Consulted

Songs and Jingles

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Nonie Jessie and Poppo’s House in Willows

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Gail & Vicki                                                     Gail & Vicki

Chapter One

WEAVERVILLE

Poppo’s mean green parrot squawked banging his beak upon the cage as we pulled him along in the old red wagon. Gail and I strutted along wearing the white clown costumes Nonie Jessie had made for us. The big bright circles of color splashed here and there, while our little sausage curls bounced up and down. We were at the tail end of the 1942 Future Farmer’s of America’s Lamb Derby Parade. We hoped to win an Honorable Mention by wearing the cleaver polka-dot clown suits. Our sweet Nonie took great joy in spending hours slaving over the White brand, treadle sewing machine her feet motivating the operation. She liked to dress us to look like twins, though in truth Gail was a year older than me, exactly. I was born on her first birthday, and I’m pretty sure she still hasn ‘t forgiven me for stealing the show.

This Lamb Derby Parade was the last performance of Poppo’s Willows High School Band for the year and they were regaled in purple and gold uniforms while he marched beside them wearing his pure white suit and shoes, the bald spot on his head shining. Tomorrow, we would leave for our summer vacation at Shelter Cove, on the Lost Coast of Humboldt County.

For tonight you’ll sleep in your clothes, Nonie Jessie whispered. the old man doesn’t like to waste time once he’s up and rearing to go. She winked and patted our cheeks with her warm soft hands, and we loved her more than anything.

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Mt. Lassen Northern California

By V. Catania-Robertson

A high pitched whistle awoke us, then the sound slide down to a lower tone. Nonie Jessie’s voice sang out in the same tones, "Good morning, darlings. Let’s get your suitcases, dolls, pillows and blankets and get in the car.

We passed Poppo who was in the kitchen sitting on the stool beside the stove, drinking his black coffee, eating the toast he always burnt. It seemed wrong to let the screen door bang in the silence of the night as we passed outside and piled into the back seat, disliking the cold moist air of the dawn. We snuggled down with our pillows and blankets, and tried to go back to sleep.

I liked to keep track of where we were by measuring in my mind, the backing out of the drive-way, crossing the cement bridge that spanned the deep gutters along the side walk. The big old 1938 Dark Green 4-door Buick turned on Sycamore street and headed toward town. Nonie Jessie was reiterating out loud all the items she was suppose to have packed. Poppo grunted, sniffed, rolled down the window and spit a big goober. As we came to the intersection by the highway he turned left, going North out of town.

What in Winthrop’s wisdom are you doing," Nonie Jessie erupted suddenly?

Gail and sat up startled at these sounds. You’re not taking us over that blasted road through Weaverville, are you, she growled? Her hands flew upward to the scarf upon her head, fixing it and checking to see if it was still as it should be. She wore it like Aunt Jemina on the Maple syrup bottle.

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Sisters

Now darlin’, he soothed. You know perfectly well, I’m a good driver. Have I ever let you down?

She sat there silent, her sweet soft face, scrunched up in a terrible frown, her eyes squinty and mean looking. Don’t you dare, she snarled remembering her broken nose in the first year of their marriage, and the head-on collision that took the life of their youngest daughter. I hate those cantilevered turns, and I’ll probably bite my fingernails down to the quick forcing myself not to look where we’re going.

The rolling hills of the Sacramento Valley appeared to be dark grey as the sun climbed up in the sky. We turned left at Redding and began the serpentine road to Weaverville. Poppo stopped the car, in front of a little red brick building with three compartments for businesses. He hiked up his pants so the cuffs wouldn’t stick in his boots, slammed the car door, and spit in the road, then stooped to pet a old Red Tick Hound. His face came full into the passenger window. Thought we’d have a bite to eat darling. What’s say you get the girls up?

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Cook

She sighed, sneered, grumbled turned her head from side to side, then got out of the car. Come on girls, she said. It’s useless to argue with that man. We looked around at the new day just barely light, and the mountains all around covered with snow. Nonie Jessie took our hands and guided us into the little Cafe where the walls were covered with amazing stuffed animals. Nonie Jessie’s sneer didn’t waver, she didn’t like all these dust collectors hanging on the walls.

We walked to the back and sat down at a home-made wooden booth with benches that had no back. I pointed to a big stuffed fish, and she growled, Sail Fish. I shook my head in wonder at the shape of the fins. Gail stuck her tongue out at me and said, Stupid, why didn’t you know the name of that fish?

I just shrugged.

Poppo slid up to the counter next to a big fat man whose black unruly hair was sticking out like a porcupine Howdy, he said loudly. Long time no see!

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Cantilevered Road By V. Catania-Robertson

Nonie Jessie shuddered looking at the man. At least he could wear a clean apron, she whispered. Keep your hands in your lap, and don’t be swinging your feet. I don’t want to be kicked. And don’t talk.

Gail and I looked at each other, pointed to the old wagon wheel, the saw blades, and whispered the names of each in competition. Then, I spotted an advertisement for ice cream cones. I’d like an ice cream cone for breakfast, I announced in my little four-year old voice. But, Gail covered my mouth with her hand.

Silence, she said all bossy-like. Soon the old school-house clock on the wall, swinging it’s pendulum excited her to show off, after all she had gone to Kindergarten this year. She announced that ten minutes had passed since we sat down.

Go pull on his shirt sleeve, Vicki, Nonie Jessie instructed. I did as I was told, but he looked at me as if I was a two-headed cow. Get back to your seat, he growled. The cook moved a little back from the counter, and soon there were four plates with little silver dollar pancakes. He carried them to our booth and set them down continuing his conversation with Poppo by turning his head. A little girl not older then Gail and me, brought out a tea pot and cream.

Only ignoramuses uses Karo syrup, Nonie Jessie complained. But then, how would this man know anything. He’s living in this god-forsaken hell-hole? You just wait and see, the road we’re about to travel was built by the Conservation Corps. The mountain is rocky, not room to build a road, so they cantilevered a bridge hanging over a mile high drop on almost every corner. I get sick just thinking about it. Now, your grandfather is taking us on this perilous adventure. This may be our last meal!

Gail began to worry and brood, but I was only half listening. I didn’t know or care what cantilever meant. I was still only interested in the Ice Cream cone.

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My expectations were that ice cream would finish off this meal nicely But Nonie Jessie was worked up and angry. Go stand next to Poppo, maybe he’ll realize we have miles to go, times a-wasting.

I got up and went back to his side, pulling on his sleeve. He ignored me.

Yep, he sniffed while twilling on the stool at the counter. Me, my Pa and my good-for-nothin brother took a trip up into Idaho. He paused to wipe his mouth with a napkin.

"Back in ‘98 we was lookin’ fer homestead land. I was just a skinny little kid. We’d hired a rig, an old mule and loaded it with coffee, sugar, flour, beans, lard, and corn meal, planning ahead in the event our relatives in Idaho needed supplies, or possibly we’d meet up with hungry Indians. Pa said Indians were always hungry.

We were having a good time fishing the creeks, frying up the succulent trout in salt-pork. Mmmm, that’s a mighty good way to start the day! Pa was a hand at makin’ biscuits inside an iron kettle. His coffee wasn’t bad either.

Welllllll, like I told ya, the old mule dropped dead in the middle of a creek crossing and before we got our truck out o the wagon we were surrounded by Indians. This one young buck took a look at me, and it was war. We wrestled to the ground, trying our best to get a good hit, but like little greased pigs our hands slide this way and that. My Pa and his Pa came wading into the fray and pulled us apart, proud as two strutting peacocks!

My Pa whipped out a nice big fat cigar for the chief. They laughed as we unloaded the wagon, and began our feast. We dug out the salt pork, sorghum molasses, made flapjacks, started a pot of pinto beans for later in the day. While the food was cookin’ the Indians challenged us to foot races and javelin throws and we had a good time.

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The Chief honored me by saying I was a good warrior and named me, ‘Um’ inducting me into his tribe. Later on, I got a post card in the mail from him to prove to the scoffers that this story was true! They were very civilized Piutes. We never did buy any homestead land, but did visit my mother’s relatives then skedaddled on back to Kansas!"

Yep, the wild-haired cook drawled, licking his big thick lips, leaning heavily on his elbows on the counter. I’ve never got enough of those sweet trout, but see my prize up there on the wall? He pointed to the Sail Fish. "Just had to have that kept forever, it was such a granddaddy.

Lots of Indians around here, lots of hunters and fisherman, with a good supply of Elk, Deer, Salmon, Trout, and now and again a Wild Turkey. I’m Indian ma-self. We’ve got a strong tribal association, since we’ve been admitted to the Army, in this here WWII, we might even earn a little recognition before it’s over."

I’d been pulling on Poppo’s sleeve for quite awhile when my words, Ice Cream cut through his consciousness, and he turned and looked at me, his eyes menacing. Woman, he yelled toward Nonie Jessie, Can’t you control these children?

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Nonie Jessie’s lips were pursed together indignantly, as she grabbed our hands and pulled us out the door. Don’t suppose they have a bathroom, she pronounced the obvious. We headed back around the building, me lagging behind trying to get a look in the windows of two storefronts covered with paper. Na, I shook my head. Nothing interesting, just some old trash.

Nonie Jessie always had a damp cloth, Kleenex, lip balm, nose drops, eye drops and anything else she might need in an emergency. Today we tramped through three - four foot high dry weeds, finally deciding to do our business right there in the open, rather than enter the falling down out-house which was probably an Black-Widow’s nest. We hurried back to the Buick, Nonie Jessie walking with a jerking stiff-legged movement her head shaking, looking down mumbling her frustration at this stop. Finally, here came the old man, limping on his left leg, which I’d never noticed before. Gail had sweet-talked Nonie