Route 938 is a DIRT ROAD

It is, too. I’ve been there. Several times. And man, it’s dirt.

Hi, i’m Upham, i havn’t posted here in a little while, but the urge strikes and i’ve nothing else to do at the moment, so i’ll post and post and post away. Please excuse the misspellings and such, as i do that often and know it very well. I don’t need your comments on them, honest. Also, i teach English now, so NEAH - i’ll fool with the language all i want and call it Education.

Anyway, as i was saying, it’s a dirt road. That is, a road which consists entierly of dirt and puddles (holes in the dirt with dirty water in them). I know this because i go wandering around what used to be an abandoned village sometimes, and to get there you need to take Route 938.

What? What’s this i hear? How can a village once have been abandoned? Well, there’s two answers to your question: 1) the village can have been abandoned and then moved back into (which wouldn’t be very interesting should one wish to wander around fin it) or 2) the village can be eaten by tiny little bugs over hte span of about 90 years until all that’s left are foundations, some rubbel, the odd chimney with chunks of wall attached and my all time favorite, the trash piles. Then it’s not really a village anymore, just a place with a lot of trash piles.

I like trash piles, cause i’m a bit of a fool. You get to look at the stuff people a hundred years ago threw out, and then wonder what was in it, or how it got broken, or what they were thinking when they chucked it. It’s good for the liver, you understand, that’s really why i do it. Sometimes you find stuff like stove lids or really old coke bottles that are worth a good deal of coin (the bottles, not so much the lids) And then you feel a little dirty because you didn’t go out looking for lids or money, you were really just after that weird little high you got the time you found the Royal Flying Corps recrutment handbook in the crumbeling attic of that shack near Coles Island, or the feeling of distant attachment (like a roap being pulled way too tight over far too long a distance) when you spotted Sherman Wilson’s auto insurance card from 1953 uncer the torn pages of a novel about a set of twins and some rotten shooes.

Don’t ask me to explain any more, i need to go down town and find some more booze soon. Because i’m living in a large city now. And you don’t find dirt roads or places where light houses were build and burned down on the sight of an 18th centuary battle between men seeking to join Nova Scotia in the cause of American Independance and the 12 drunken men under the command of Lt. Jonny Walker (i’m not making this up). The drunks lost in the short run, but this was followed a few months later - after the siege of Fort Cumberland - by the battle of Bloody Creek, and since Nova Scotia’s part of my country these days we can well assume how it turned out.

If you can’t well assume it then don’t blame me, i’m just the messenger. If it makes you feel any worse, the whole story of that battle looks really, really funny at the first couple glances, but the closer you get to it the more awful it becomes, for both sides. Just a really stupid idea carried out by a man (Jonathan Eddy, let the name be recorded as a fool) constantly at odds with reality.

Now Jamie goes to bar.

Bye bye.

Upham, after reading that, I’m not so sure that Jamie needs a bar so much as a good long nap and a steamroller.

Great reading, though.

Eddy may or may not have been sober at the time, we’ve really no way of knowing for sure.

It is known that he paddled down the Peticodiac river, around Fort Folly point, up the Cumberland basin and then took a small ship by force.

What can not be certainly proven is whether or not he was actually some sort of Vole, perhaps distantly related to the marmot or, a little further back, the turkey, ant or june bug.

He probably died sometime, though.

I’m sorry love, I know I was so excited to hear from you and that I said I was going to start a thread letting everyone know that you were alive and well and that I had heard from you.
I guess it’s a combination of wanting to keep you all to myself and the pain meds from the surgery that I didn’t get said thread started.
Just remember I love you, I miss you, and you need to hang around for a bit longer this time.
And in another thread around here somewhere I listed you as the doper I would most want to marry/end up with. I’m hoping you are flattered and not creeped out. :wink:


Not long ago, I heard an archeologist talking about what treasure troves outhouses (privies, dunnies, etc.) can be. Long after the house has been moved or has fallen down, and long after the dung has composted, there’s money, jewelry, dishes, tools, even weapons down there.

They’re all yours, my friend.

They’re all yours.