Woody & My IBF

Here's what I know about Dunleith. It survived the war because the women entertained the Union soldiers. Apparently, Natchez survived because all the women entertained Union soldiers. Not like Vicksburg where they actually fought for their homes and lost. Those cagey Natchez girls. Ladies in Natchez have either cobalt blue or maroon/magenta edges on their china. It was very popular. There is a ghost that plays the harp there, at tea time. She was very unhappy. By the way, house servants were not slaves. If you worked for no pay in the fields you were a slave. If you worked for no pay in the house you were a sla...house servant. The ladies of the house were large-nosed and jowly. I can't believe they even painted their portraits that way as there is always a bit of artistic license taken in these things. The wallpaper is very valuable and was touched up using stamps (the paint kind, not the postage kind). Annalow likes Jerry's (or Wayne's) hair. It was in a very foofy french twist. The couple is very tall. Houses are really big if they have four bedrooms. Also, girls could be courted until the lamp went out. Their fathers put only a little oil in it. The angel lights were also used as night lights for the children.  Above the chicken coop (where the check in desk is), there is a pigeonnaire. I always thought these were for racing pigeons. My hairdresser races pigeons. Turns out, they hope the pigeons will roost there so that they don't crap over everything else.

Went to the Visitors Center. This is the largest Visitors Center I have ever seen. There were at least half a dozen tour buses in the corner of the parking lot. This is the first time this trip that I've run into tour buses. I had to get them to put the $2 movie on becuase I was the only one there. I asked Sarah Jones what to do in Natchez. She asked if I wanted to tour the plantations. Yes, I did. She helped me figure out which ones to go to when because they all have different hours and it was already noon. Turns out that all the "plantations" aren't plantations at all. The places where they grew cotton is across the river. These are fake plantations in town through which these rich guys competed with each other when they weren't busy smoking cigars and overseeing cotton (which consisted of counting money). I wanted to see a working plantation and the Eli Whitney stuff. She told me I wouldn't be able to get into one of those. Except Frogmore. Sounded good to me. It is over the line in Louisiana, but I am heading that way anyhow. She gave me the brochure. I later read it and it is not open until July. Not her fault. You couldn't really expect a vistors center person to know this when nobody had ever asked about it before. I also told her I was interested in African American history. She told me where I could see the outsides of some buildings that were related to blacks. That's how they are identified here (she is one, so she is the authority as far as I'm concerned). I've always wondered which is the right terminology.

Map and schedule in hand, I headed out toward Rosalie. It is about 100 feet from the visitors center but I didn't know that. Since I'm never on time anyway, I decided to eat lunch before the tour. I have been curious about tamales. I thought tamales are something you eat in like New Mexico or Arizona. So I stopped at Big Mama's Tamales even though it is kind of the Disneyfied version. I missed the good ones getting to Natchez last night. Tamales are corn meal with a tiny bit of some kind of unidentified meat in the middle wrapped up in corn leaves. I love grits. I love cornbread. I even love polenta. I hate tamales. They are like thick wallpaper paste. No wonder they have quart sized tabasco sauce on the tables. I guess it has to be a hot tamale in order to be at all palatable. Their cups are real plastic, so they are a nice souvenier if you don't throw them away. A truck in the parking lot has nuts.

So off to Rosalie. As I am late again, I ring the bell. The tour guide is nice. She is Pam. I later found out that she lives in the old slave quarters. The house is owned and maintained by the DAR. Their muk a muks have their hoop-skirted dresses on display there. I asked if there were a lot of members of the DAR. Oh, yes. I'm trying to figure out why the Daughters of the American Revolution were in Mississippi at all as, if I'm not mistaken, Mississippi was not part of the country during the American Revolution. Or maybe it was. I don't know. I learned that wall to wall carpet was the cat's meow. It was a lot of rugs stitched together. The ladies of the family had a tough time with fertility. Two orphan sisters were adopted by different parts of the family and were raised as cousins. Finally, one of them had a lot of kids, most of which died from various ailments, although one boy fell down the stairs and cracked his head open. The two girls who were left lived at Rosalie until they died. They had already given it to the DAR which thoughtfully added a bathroom to their bedroom. From what I can tell the two of them shared the room. From the fairly recent portrait I can tell that at least one of them was rather pretty. She had a crush on some guy that married some other girl. When she was sixty, he came back and married her. He died 5 years later, and then she lived with her sister again. I wonder what happened to her sister when she was married. Did all three of them share a bedroom? Geriatric menage-a-trois?

Pam showed us a fly catcher which is a kind of glass sphere with  a pushed up bottom where you put sugar water. The flies can't get out and die. They were normally frosted glass at the bottom so you didn't get grossed out while you were eating. Lot's of commode references. The ladies seat was softer than the gentlemen's. Roy and Barb from Wisconsin have been stalking me. They said they've seen me in every place they'd been for the last four days. Ulysses S. Grant lived in Rosalie and let the ladies live upstairs. The view is why. The ladies buried the gold mirrors in cloth and hay and so on and then unburied them after the war. The lady of the house did a lot of shopping in New York.

Hightailed it to Stanton Hall which I couldn't find. A big white pickup truck pulled alongside of me. Nice car. You lost? Uh, yes. Follow me. I did. And I got to Stanton Hall. I was running late again and hoping that they wouldn't lock the door on me again, so I told John and Michelle to look at the car all they want while I went inside. Aren't you gonna lock it? No (I didn't tell them I can't because I lost the keys). Nah, people respect the car. They do. Rushed up to the door. Locked in front of me again. I rang the bell several times. I asked for the tour. The very annoyed garden club lady said that she is giving the tour. I jumped in to join in. She was surprised. She wanted to keep the door locked in front of me.

She said the carpet in the hall was stripped carpet. I guess that's like wall to wall except the rugs are stitched together in strips. Turns out they weren't even sewn. They were stuck to the floor with nails. There are a lot of gasoliers (chandeliers lit with gas), the best ones of which were from Philadelphia. She was annoyed that good stuff could come from the same place I do. I asked her how it worked. You take the coal and do blah, blah, blah with it and.... No, I mean how do the gasoliers get gas into them? She looked at me like I was even crazier for asking that than I was in asking how gas is manufactured. Someone else in the group told me. The garden club bought the house in 1938, structurally sound but not a lot more. Lots of those garden club girls must have money, because each piece of priceless antiques (she was sure that we understood they were priceless) was donated by this one or that one. Scalamandre (pppbblt Gayle, I know who they are. I didn't have the heart to tell her I own some of it myself) did the red drapes and upholstery for the parlor sets. The chairs are veneered rosewood. This is true in a lot of plantations. Also, they all use cypress because it doesn't rot or get bugs. All the walls in these places are plastered with a molasses, flour and horsehair mixture. She made a point that these were clipped manes and tails, but I don't buy it. You ever see a live horse with a buzz cut? At the Duff Green Mansion, Chad said it was like bakin' a cake and then adding horsehair to keep the goop together until it dried. Stanton hall has very, very big windows, and a backwards system to ceiling height. First floor is 16 feet. Second is 18, and third is 20. Did the builders have the architect's plans upside down?

I didn't take a picture of Gayle because she was so mean. She kept on saying we did this and we did that. Let me do the calculations. 1938. Say she was 15. That means she was born in 1923. That makes her about 90 years old. Either she is the youngest-looking 90 year old I have ever seen, or she was using the royal we liberally. Give it up Gayle, I'm not buying it. The bedrooms are quite lovely. The sugar shakers are in the yellow one because they were in the dining room and no one was looking at them. The donor must be an officer of the garden club. The beds are teesters and half teesters. I was going to say something about why don't you call them testers and half testers like the rest of the world does, but someone beat me to the punch. You know, it's European. Yeah? As far as I remember, tister and half tister are not Fench words. I'll have to look it up. The garden club has a restaurant at Stanton Hall. It also has a swimming pool with a sign directing non-members to not even think about it. I'm not sure what happens here. Do the garden club ladies have lunch and go for a dip in between giving tours? I really don't want to see her in a bathing suit. After I asked a few more questions, she started talking to everyone else, not meeting my eye at all. Egads. I've been shunned by a tour guide. No more hoop skirts for me. By the way, Stanton Hall is "Natchez' Premier Attraction," according to them, and it's restaurant is the World Famous Carriage House. Oh, that Pinky. She's always so enthusiastic.



Rushed out to Longwood. This is the one the lady at the visitors center said is the most interesting one. I couldn't find the ticket from the strip of three I'd purchased in advance at the visitors center. I said I'd buy another one to the guy at the gate. You better not go there, they'll send you right on back. I asked him again. Can I buy a ticket? Can I buy a ticket from you? Oh, sure. This turned out to be a really cool place. It is octagonal. It was designed by the same guy as did the mansion I lived in in Philadelphia for a time. The plans were made for his portfolio to show how ingenious he was. He never expected anyone to ever build it. Longwood is octagonal. It was to be 25,000 feet and would outdo all they guys at the diner. Guy lost everything in the War Between The States. Died of lungs or hear or something combined with depression. It seems that everyone in the South between 1850 and 1900 died of something and depression. Pretty depressing place. Anyhow, his young widow lived with her four kids in the basement and had to raise cows or something. The house was never finished.

Oh, workmen came from Philadelphia for the construction but left during the war. A lot of tools and stuff is still there. So are the crates used to deliver the piano and the harp. All these plantations have the crate that the harp was delivered in. Despite being the basement, the living area was very nice. In the original plan the center part was for a billiards table, and two of the rooms for smoking and playing cards. An antebellum man cave. The front of the outside and the windows were used in True Blood for the King of whatever Vampires. Here is the clip from the True Blood website.

Both Gay (my guide) and I like True Blood even though the whole vampire/teenager thing is annoying. Gay says it's the immortality thing, that teenagers think they're never going to die. Plus the sex. The best, best, best part of Longwood were the guides. Gay (yes, my neices would call me gay and snicker, but my mother named me when it was light and fun) knew of a place I might like to stay. Shantybellum. Be still my heart. It turns out that this guy, Tommy Polk who is apparently a musician in Nashville, started the Shack Up Inn. I love this guy. Louis pulled up the website for me. Called in parking lot. Couldn't get in touch with him.

Pondered staying at the Eola Hotel in town, but understand that the lobby is great and the rooms suck. I really wanted a place with a river view as I had been traveling down the Mississippi for a week and I still haven't seen it. Pondered staying at the Grand Hotel near the visitors center. Looks very nice, and appears to be over the river. Website made me wary. I don't know why. Was looking at another B&B that appeared really nice. Thought I'd try that, but this morning when I pulled out of Dunleith, I realized it was right across the street. No more blinding light for me, although I have since heard from several people that it is very nice. Now you tell me. Finally decided to give plantation B&Bs one more chance. Monmouth is a plantation you can only tour once a day, at 10 a.m. Sounds like it must be pretty nice. Looked it up in Fodors. Star (that means it's "Fodor's Choice", I usually don't go to those because everyone goes there and it is very crowded). Also $$$-$$$$. What the fuck. Brokered a deal with nice front desk lady as I take a full bed, and most people want a queen at least. $165 a night. Rack rate: $325.

This place is heaven. There is nice soft music (which is also on their website and sounds like the track from Gone With The Wind) and a pretty courtyard with iron tables, and porches with wicker rocking chairs. There is also Hal, who wears ear plugs. I don't know why. I'll ask him in the morning. Hal is the bomb. He'll carry your bags, but will let me take my own as I prefer to dig around in Woody for ten minutes or so when a get in a place and it's still light out. If it's nighttime, I grab what I think is a clean shirt and collapse. Hal showed me all the tricks of the place, like how and when it's better to use the side door. I went to my room and the place is a freaking four diamond hotel. The soap is in little pleated tissue paper wrappers that you don't have to use your scissors on. There is a full teester bed. Fancy drapes. Poofy white towels. And they turn your bed down at night. Even better, I got the nice desk lady to give me a list of hair salons (when did they stop calling them beauty parlors?) that might have Aveda color so I can get my tell-tale roots taken care of. The first one said no, baby doll, try this one. I did, and I got a lot of yes ma'ams and an appointment for tomorrow. I decided to stay another night. No dice. I guess it must be a weekend. I don't keep track of the days anymore. Maybe Shantybellum guy will call back. I'm not ready to hit Louisiana. Going to New Orleans seems like the end of the road. It's not. I have lots of the gulf coast to cover, but I won't have that great rural run anymore. Maybe I'll just turn around and go back to Clarkesdale and my luv shack. I wanted to go to that unclaimed baggage place, and it's in northern Alabama, so maybe a loop is in order. Oh, and the couple that liked the yellow bedroom at Stanton Hall is from the gulf coast, but 20 miles inland so they didn't get it so bad.

Shirley came to see me and Woody. Shirley made me take her picture three times before she was ok with one of them. I love Shirley. I love Hal and Shirley. I love Monmouth. Turns out that Shirley will be my waittress tonight but I didn't know it at the time. I'm having dinner at the plantation. It was really pretty good, although they didn't slice the duck in the kitchen and I had to hack at it with a steak knife, not particularly successfully. But first a bath. The tub is the kind a like best. It is on the smaller side, but deep, deep, deep. The cold water faucet turned off when you asked it to. I decided to put makeup on. And a skirt. What is the world coming to? I then met Roosevelt. He is the bartender in the study. He's been here for 24 years. They treat him well. He is very short. I love Hal and Shirley and Roosevelt. I love Monmouth.

On the porch waiting for dinner, I sat in a white wicker rocker with a Tanquery and tonic (lime please, I don't know how anyone can drink it without, I tried it once when I was desperate for a drink and I didn't have any limes, and it really sucked) and my needlepoint. I haven't done any sewing in a long time, and I think I am doing it now to get a little privacy. The lady with the red hair and cream pantsuit asked me if I was getting any mosquitos with my bare legs and ankles. Oops. All the ladies were wearing pants suits. And she's from Louisiana and I'm a Yankee. Later, her husband asked about my sewing. She was pissed. At dinner, there were two couples, a table of four and me. Shirley asked the fourtop if they wanted it all on one ticket. They do. I told her I wanted mine on one ticket too. The conversation from all of them was a bore. Tempted to drink heavily. Did not. I told Shirley it would not be pretty if she had to haul me upstairs. Oh! They have these amaaaaaazing things called fried rolls. They don't seem fried to me. They are light as air. Like a Dixie Donut with no sugar. Later, Isis tells me you buy them in packages and just fry them. They are called castelettes (I think, I'm going to look it up). Isis is really Tracey. I went to dinner without my glasses on. The name of the restaurant is 1818. The menus were at the hostess station, and the lettering was such that it looked like ISIS to me. Thus, Isis. Yes, I want dessert. My pants still fit.

Just got and email from the Road Food people. There is a Southern Food and Beverage Museum (SoFAB) in New Orleans! They currently have a pecan candy exhibit. Pralines, ho! Check this one out: Tout de Sweet, All About Sugar. My kind of museum. There is also an online Southern Food Magazine called Okra. I love it already. There is a king cake festival day after tomorrow in the East Bank Regional Library, Metarie! Maybe there is a reason to keep going after all. Poppy Tooker will be Mistress of Ceremonies. It sounds like I should know who she is. I'll look it up.

I'm going to bed feeling very safe:


Lost:

• Nothing!

Found:

• Great bathtub
• Hal, Shirley and Roosevelt
• Hair color appointment