I once encountered a friend on an elevator at a casino hotel on the Gulf Coast. Not at all pleased to see me, she said with a snarky tone, "I thought I was getting away from everybody I know."
I hate to tell her, but when one is from Washington Parish, it is impossible to get away from everyone. For years, my family has vacationed in Gatlinburg/Pigeon Forge, and it has been rare to not run into someone from home.
The first cruise my family took in 2007 was on a ship with 3,400 passengers. We encountered a former Franklinton Demon baseball player and his wife, an FHS graduate, along with his sister and her family from Amite. We did not go on any excursions together or even have a meal, but we visited every day somewhere on the ship and enjoyed our quick "catch up sessions."
My husband Jeff and I have recently returned from a 12-day cruise and land trip to Alaska. It was a dream-come-true trip, and we have hundreds of photos to prove it. The beauty of the Last Frontier is almost too much for words, and we filled our days with totem-pole villages, whale watching, riding a train into the Yukon, and marveling at the silent majesty of glaciers and the elusive Mt. McKinley/Denali.
Inevitably, we ran into people we know from home. The Princess cruise ship had around 4,000 passengers yet we were alone amid the crowds. But once we reached land, we were reminded that home was a lot closer than 3,000 miles away.
The cruise set sail from Vancouver, British Columbia. We arrived the night before and our daughter-in-law Emily's aunt picked us up the next morning for a quick tour of the eclectic city and delivered us to the front door of the port. Joanne rode with a friend who was moving from her home in the Northeast to Vancouver 35 years ago and decided to stay. A former ballerina, Joanne worked in the vibrant Vancouver arts scene for many years and raised her family there. We had only met Joanne once before at our son Evan's wedding, but she was a knowledgeable and excellent tour guide who, over breakfast, interpreted our Southern accent to the server who spoke like a true Canadian.
Joanne took the time to explain the exchange rate for American vs Canadian money. This explained why the cab driver, who only drove from the airport to a hotel two blocks away, so happily helped bring our luggage to the front desk. He got a much larger tip in American dollars than we even realized. Waving from the pier, we watched Joanne, a newly minted friend drive away in her electric car.
Our first cruise stop was in Ketchikan, Alaska. It is billed as Alaska's oldest city and is literally perched on a mountainside over a harbor. It was the first stop for people traveling into the frozen North. Leaving the ship, I received a text from my Franklinton friend Mercer Brumfield concerning a photo related to the Washington Parish Fair. I responded that I was in Alaska and would take care of it as soon as I returned home. She shared that her granddaughter was in Alaska and worked at a shop in Ketchikan. What a coincidence! We were only steps away from the shop.
We went on our excursion to see an 88-year-old veteran carving totems and when we returned, we made a beeline to the shop. There she was. Michaela Davis, daughter of Neale and Lynette Brumfield, was working at a cash register. She was expecting us, thanks to a text from her grandmother. We posed for a selfie to send to Mercer and shared our memories of her dad who traveled with us and the Centenary Methodist youth to Colorado in 1990.
Fast forward to the land portion of the trip where we rode a train from Whittier to Talkeetna. During the four-hour journey, Jeff was reminded that his friend Bobby McIntyre, local construction company owner who built the Franklinton High baseball locker room in 2014, was in Alaska for the summer. He called Bobby as we rode. He and wife Lenora are building a place on property they purchased after becoming enamored with the area. They promised to meet us when we got off the train before going by coach to the McKinley Wilderness Lodge.
We saw them sitting at a little café down the block. It was easy enough to spot Bobby with his long gray beard. They walked us around Talkeetna, and shared fascinating stories of their drive up to Alaska and the progress on their house. They obviously derive great joy from the property and if not for their children and grandchildren in Mt. Hermon, they might move there permanently.
They hoped for us to catch a glimpse of Mt. McKinley/Denali, but the day was cloudy. They sat with us as we ate lunch and Lenora had us try Fireweed ice cream. It was surreal experience to be so far from home yet enjoy time with such great folks from Washington Parish.
Once we arrived at McKinley Wilderness Lodge and learned there was no air conditioning beyond opening a window, we explored the beautiful property. Shuttles were available for guests, and exhausted from our long day, we loaded into one to return to our room. Jeff was wearing a USM baseball sweatshirt and a man sitting behind us asked if we were from Mississippi. A lady across the aisle immediately gave us a "Hotty Toddy" greeting and we hurriedly explained that we were not "Ole Miss people" and our son had attended and played baseball at USM.
The couple with them wore Mississippi State gear, and the man told us he knew some people from Louisiana. In a real coincidence it turned out that his daughter, Heather Fairburn, works for Washington Parish Schools. Jeff and I taught her daughter Mattie Claire. Mattie's dad is a Williams from Angie. It was too much to wrap our heads around.
Our daughter-in-law Katelyn is from Angie, and her grandmother is Clara Faye Williams Ginn. The ex-husband in question is Katelyn's cousin, and the Mississippi State fan, a true Southerner gentleman, had been to Washington Parish many times and knows our Katelyn's parents and family. His daughter Heather is now married to the son of our former Superintendent and boss, Daryl Fairburn. We could have talked for another hour, but his wife urged him to move along to catch their bus to the next stop.
There were no more "folks from home" before we exited the Louis Armstrong Airport after two flights and a layover in Denver that amounted to around 13 total travel hours. Met at the airport by Emily's mom, Roni, we collected our truck from son Evan's Metairie home and made the final leg home. We fell asleep before dark, which makes sense as it never really became dark at night in Alaska. Instead, we experienced 12 days of light and brought home the warm knowledge that while "there's no place like home," another adage is also true, "home is wherever friends gather."
