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John and
I hadn't been together very long when he became involved in a
group of Houston Texas canoeists called the River Rats. He had
been an Emergency Room Technician, and the organizers of canoe
outings were happy to have someone along with any medical knowledge
at all. A friend announced they were going to put on an annual
'fun run' for The Lighthouse For The Blind, taking people to Armand
Bayou in NASA on a canoe outing.
The event
was scheduled, now they needed food. We started calling local
distributers and found tremendous support from the food industry.
Oscar Mayer distributor donated huge sausages, bologna tubes,
and other processed meats. Jimmy Dean Sausage did the same when
they found out about the event. Someone loaned a field kitchen.
Soft drinks and bottled water were donated freely. We thought
we were all set!
Until
someone realized that many of the people who would be there were
blind from such things as diabetes and other disease that requires
careful dietary requirements. The chemicals in processed meats,
sweets, soft drinks, etc., would probably not be on the list of
approved foodstuffs. Oh great! With 100 pounds of bologna, now
what? We hit on the idea of just using the field kitchen's pots
to cook pinto beans. These things are enormous, 15 gallons and
20 gallon stainless steel containers, and I had every one filled
with beans and cooked rice before I was finished.
The problem
lay in the fact that I lived in a tiny garage apartment, up one
set of stairs. Lugging a hot pot full of sloshing beans was not
what I was dreaming of when I agreed to 'help out'. But, hey,
it was for a good cause, right? We calculated how many people
were going to participate, how much each cup of dry beans and
rice would cook up, and went shopping for 30 pounds of dry beans
and 10 pounds of white rice! I finally hit on making one 'set'
for the diet problems, and a 'spiced up' version of Cajun rice
n beans. Loaded that one with all the sausage ends, hot pepper
flakes, etc. I barely salted the other pots, but the beans were
still good.
The day
arrived, and in the predawn hours, we set off for NASA and the
bayou. John owned a large delivery truck at the time and it was
great for events such as this. We packed it full of the foods
and all the gear the River Rats couldn't carry on their own vehicles.
When we
got to the put-in canoe site, I was pretty apprehensive. There,
in the first light, a big sign stated, "NO Swimming
or Diving off Deck". And a covey of buzzards were
perched on all the posts, emphasizing that point! But, they flew
off in search of their own peculiar breakfast, and we set up the
stove and started reheating the big pots. Tents were erected,
more canoes than I'd seen in my life were deposited at water's
edge, and things were humming along.
As soon
as everyone was in place, organizers explained that the set-up
required one sighted person would be in each canoe along with
two blind or sight-impaired people. THEY were the oarsmen!
Now, as
I mentioned earlier, John and I had not been dating very long,
and I hadn't gotten around to telling him that I can't swim. Luckily,
he was busy with his canoe and I could avoid the issue. Even luckier,
most of his canoe chums didn't know me, and didn't associate me
with any of the membership. I could watch the proceedings from
'afar', but I realized they were shorthanded enough sighted canoeists.
When anyone came looking for volunteers, I picked up a spoon and
stirred the pots as if they were in desperate need of attention.
But they
all had a great time, every canoe took a turn getting flipped,
everyone got soaked, everyone got 'rescued'. One grandmotherly
type announced she had been doing this every year since the group
started, wouldn't miss it for the world!
Paddling
a canoe seemed to whet everyone's appetite, and we only had one
big pot of (unseasoned) food plus quite a few lengths of bologna
and sausages left. The Lighthouse gang bundled into their vans
and headed back to Houston, but the River Rats wanted to recap
the event over a cold beer. We headed to Webster and converged
on the local ice house (outdoor beer garden).
After
the Rats had loosened up with a few brews, John drug out the meats
and started a bidding auction. Even people at the place who were
not involved with the event got into the bidding frenzy. Everything
sold, (except of course, my bean pot). I don't know how much money
was raised, but it was all donated to the Lighthouse For The Blind,
since the food was to go to them anyhow.
Back to
the truck and there was my big bean pot. I was determined I was
NOT going to lug it back to Houston and back up my little apartment
stairs again. We were 'almost' to Galveston, so we chugged along
to the beach and dumped the left over beans out to sea. We used
salt water and sand to scour the pots, and they cleaned up great.
After spending the night on the beach, we headed back to Houston
at dawn the next morning, tired and gritty and happy.
John has
cajoled me into joining him on river runs since then, but I still
can't swim!
Note:
John is the canoe enthusiast in the family, and may want to alter
this tale, add to it, or tell me to dump it. Until he gets time
to insert his own version, this is my introduction to canoeing
and canoe people. I don't know if the River Rats are still a functional
club, but they provided tremendous service with trips for groups
such as this one. Also taking part in annual river clean-up parties
and other great ways to help improve the community.
Text and
Images copyright property, contact Martha
Wells.
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