Monday, August 5, 2013

Did I ever tell you about...

There are still so many good ferry stories. Here are a few.

One early summer evening on the Wheatland Ferry, a junker of a car pulls down onto the boat. From the cabin, I can tell that someone is living in the car. The stuff in the back seat is piled high, and it seemed to be a mix of clothes, food, and garbage. Before I even walked up to the car, the driver, a 50s or 60s woman, had swung the door open, and propped her leg up on the opened door. Her poor legs and ankles were horribly swollen with edema. She wasn't wearing shoes, and her feet and toes were awful as well. Plus, I saw more of a strangers mangled toenails than I will ever need to.

She was downright effervescent. Happy, breathy, enthusiastic. She used to ride the ferry as a child, and hadn't been here in a long time. Somehow she started talking about the last homeless shelter she was in, up in Wenatchee, Washington, where, even though they were super nice and helped her set up an email address and even made her up a bunch of business cards, they stole something (I was never clear on what it was) and she could barely stop badmouthing them, describing how terrible they were. So now I'm curious, because she seems an odd and interesting person. Her business cards were for her crocheting business, called "Funki or Fanci" She did have a lovely crocheted blanket in the back seat, so it was obvious she had some talent. Her email address, the only way of contacting her, was (I'm making up her name here) JaneGodsChild@....

She was with a very quiet, somber man, who seemed to be her opposite. She called him Dad, and he responded by calling her Mom. Evidently they'd met at the homeless shelter in Wenatchee. That place couldn't have been all bad! She told me how much she loved him, and was so lucky to find him, though he complained vehemently when she didn't have money for the ferry.

I took them across the river, where they only wanted to sit and watch the sunset. I reminded them of what time the ferry closed, and that I'd make sure they got across before I closed. They came across in due time, thanking me all the while. When I walked up to my car that evening, her card was in my windshield, with this note on the back:
Jenny, yeah!
Thx 4 a cool trip.
We will c u again.
xo Jane
PRAY, if this man is 4 me 4-ever! :)"


Did I ever tell you about the fishing tackle? I don't think so.

A man and woman walked across the ferry, and ran up to a truck on the other side, yelling back to me to wait, she just had to give her daughter something. She didn't come back down quickly, so I resumed hauling traffic. She sat in her daughter's truck for about 20 minutes while her male friend wandered around on shore. Eventually, her daughter drove off, and she and the man were both wandering the shore, looking down. I assumed they were rock hounding, but they never picked anything up. They walked onto the boat, asking if we had any spare fishing rods or line or hooks. I looked around the boat, since a few weeks prior, someone had left a fishing rod on board, and a coworker eventually took it home. There was nothing on board at the time. The couple got off the boat on the same side, searching the shore, they said, for stray bits of line or hooks. There was a pickup truck parked up next to my car, and they hollered down asking if the truck was mine. I said no, and they were bummed, since it appeared that there was some fishing tackle, or tools or something, in the bed of the truck. All the while, I was hauling traffic, and didn't have time to watch them closely.

After awhile, the couple walked onto the ferry and went back across to the other side. I assumed they found something to fish with, as they climbed down the bank to where a creek meets the river, a favorite fishing spot. They were there all evening, they were really patient and obviously REALLY wanted to catch a fish! After the couple had been fishing for over an hour, a good looking young man walked across the ferry and up to the pickup truck next to mine. The next time the boat was parked on that shore, he hollered down to me asking me if I saw anyone hanging out around his truck. I immediately looked behind me, and yes, the couple was still there, in plain sight, persevering in their desire for a fish. I walked up to talk to the man, and explained that the couple had seemed weird--possibly drugged from the odd mannerisms, and had commented on the fishing gear and tools in his truck. I was very angry that they'd rifled through his truck right under my nose. He couldn't tell if anything had actually been taken, but I assumed so, since it was after they were up at the truck that they suddenly "found" something to fish with. I pointed them out to him, and because I felt bad, gave him a free ride across the ferry to confront them.

As I drifted off the shore, I could hear this handsome young man with rage in his voice, as he hollered at the couple, "HEY YOU SORRY SONS OF BITCHES!"


So on my very last day working for Marion County, I was told to go down to the Buena Vista ferry and do some weed whacking. Lovely. My very last day, it's 90 degrees, and I'm going to be covered in blackberry brambles, weeds and sweat. The operator that day was a good guy, someone I really enjoyed talking to, so I probably did more of that than any actual work. Eventually though, I did get to work trying to whack back the thick, dense blackberry brambles. I had my ipod blasting and my earbuds in, more to drown out the insessent roar of the motor than anything else. Traffic was typically slow on the BV, to the point that I'd usually look up when the ferry landed near me. The ferry landed on my side, and I looked up, since out of the corner of my eye, I couldn't see any vehicles on board--maybe the operator wanted something?

What I saw made my jaw drop. Instead of a car, or even a spandex clad bicyclist, there was a man wearing tweed shorts, and a matching vest with a watch chain and fob across the front. He had an old newsboy style cap on his head. More astounding was his vehicle. He had an old fashioned, all black, penny-farthing. A penny-farthing, to refresh your memory, is one of these:

My mind? totally blown. The young, earnest looking man silently pushed his penny-farthing up the ferry ramp, nodded in my direction, then quickly mounted the velocipede and peddled away.

I still have more stories. The baby raccoons,  my last day and the combines, and more. Eventually, I'll tell them all.

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