Yesterday, I cruised north towards the Canadian border for the best of all reasons, to drop in and have a visit with my parents. Ma and Pa live in a cute little cabin not too terribly far from O' Canada, and I decided to head on up there for my first solo foray out of the house since the ol' thyroid storm of energy sucking doom struck me a month ago.
The drive was pleasant, and by pleasant I mean reminiscent of my youth, because it was absolutely dumping rain. I grew up driving in the rain, so barely being able to see as I cruised down the road was a pretty nostalgic thing, plus the antics of the Grey Locusts amused me as I went to and from Ma and Pa's place.
It was a combination of an excellent lunch of soup and homemade bread cooked by my Ma, watching an Alaska far north frozen wastes homesteader show with my dad, and giggling at the antics of people who weren't used to driving in inclement weather that I was reminded of a time I experienced on Annette Island.
The infamous Mayonnaise and Mustard Incident.
My uncle is a Native Tsimshain fisherman from the Island of Metlakatla. He's been down for a visit and every time I think of him I am reminded of some of the more interesting things about that unique part of the world.
One of the interesting things is that the island, at least when I was a kid, was supposed to be a dry island. No alcohol. Just like with any prohibition, it of course meant that there was alcohol everywhere, it was just out of sight.
The reason the fermented brew is important in this conversation will be apparent in just a few lines. One afternoon my aunt, mom, brother, and I were down at the dock to hop on a float plane to Ketchikan. I can't even remember why were heading over there, probably to leave after a visit, but it's been a hot minute since this happening and the why isn't really highlighted in my mind.
My mind at the time was focused on the injustice that is tall people. Look, I am short, I'm barely past the five foot mark, and my brother is freaking TALL! And because he is TALL meant that he always, always got to fly next to the pilot in the front of the plane. THE INJSUTICE!! AHHHHH!
Sorry, it still chaps my hide...
Anyway. Bro got to be in the cool seat, and the pilot then stuffed my aunt, my mom, and I all in the back bench seat of the float plane. (We are all short).
I stared at the two remaining seats in front of me. I wondered who was going in them, and maybe I cursed tall people under my breath. Just a little.
It was then that I noticed the dock swaying back and forth. The swaying built in its intensity until the dock was sloshing back and forth like water in a hotel hot tub after a state soccer match. The wake coming off the dock made our plane start shifting back and forth and my mouth dropped when I saw the source of the disturbance.
Mayonnaise and Mustard appeared next to the plane.
Mayonnaise and Mustard were the local fermented beverage bootleggers for the island. They were also, as my grandpa used to say, 440 field dressed.
These two lovely ladies were both tall and well filled out and as they got on the plane I could feel a both my stomach and the plane sinking. The water line got dangerously close to my little back window.
I was terrified.
And the pilot didn't help matters any. He hopped onto the plane, gave one look at the scene, and said, "Well, let's give it a try."
"I'm gonna die today." was my first thought, my mom and aunt looked a bit miffed, and my brother, bless him, was all bug eyed and barely restraining his mirth.
The pilot fired up the plane and before you could say Oscar Meyer Bologna we were cruising across the bay. Faster and faster we taxied out on the water, the scratching chalkboard noise of the water flowing around the pontoons slicing into the well-being sector of my soul. The pilot kept throttling up the engine, plying the plane into increasing speed, yet we still did not lift out of the bay.
I kept muttering no driftwood, no orcas under my breath and my stomach felt like it had eaten some bad shrimp. Finally the pilot just rammed the throttle down and we all lurched forward. He turned around and said, "One of you has to get out."
So, back to the dock we went, and one very disgruntled looking bootlegger departed the plane, sloshing us all as she exited. I'm not sure which sister it was, because to be honest, my nerves by that point were shot, and we still had to go through and try to take off again.
Which we did. We also made it to Ketchikan successfully, and as far as I know it the sisters reunited as well.
This whole tale makes me wonder what other people think of when they hydroplane down a highway during a deluge.😁
