See part one of this excursion here.
It's only after our River Road trip happened that I'm becoming more aware of how rich it is in historic sites and plantations. Without that previous knowledge, this next stop, J.N. Barthel General Merchandise store, was so perfectly Olde Tyme America, I kind of doubted its authenticity.
Why is the lettering on the sign such a crisp, bright white? Has this been restored, and/or is this part of a movie set? If this is a real site, you'll see below that we can date it to 1880. (But then why is that lettering in such fresh black paint?)
Here's one benefit of having a tall fiance: he was able to reach up and take this shot through a high window.
See the brand-new wood in the right foreground--? Movie set?
Clearly, this Jersey girl by-way-of Brooklyn is not accustomed to having such quaint antique buildings just casually hanging out unattended at the side of the road.
This commissary is to the right of the general store.
A section of River Road is unpaved, and if you're in a large truck, impassable. Further along is a pastoral area of free-roaming cattle, where the ladies seem rather put out by the presence of interlopers.
This unpaved area is also home to the below molestation station trailer of shady doings.
Also speaking of ladies, when we arrived at Houma House, we popped in to the gift shoppe, which catered to an unfamiliar demographic I'm going to call "Southern Belles who live in plantation homes and like big shiny ornaments and big murderous dolls."
And furthermore, speaking of ladies:
Our final stop of the day was a rusted-out wharf on the Mississippi, just south of the bridge. I was tipped off about this place by the winner of the ABR birthday contest.
It's rather treacherous; the iron walkway above is rotten through in parts, and you have to cross these beams below to get to that walkway. (For my east coast readers, they smelled like the boardwalk.)
The place instantly struck both of us as a place for high-school kids to hang out to practice their juvenile-delinquent skills. It just as quickly struck me as a really dangerous place, especially in the dark, especially when impaired. For the love of God, kids, don't party here anymore.
Here's the view back the way we came in.
While entering, fiance turned to me, muttering, "We're not alone," which to my dismay, set the Michael Jackson song "You Are Not Alone" on repeat in my head. A pile of humanity was napping in the heat on the south wing of the structure. Here's a picture of myself with the occupant visible, just before a mishap.
After this shot was taken, I approached that left edge behind me with no railing to peer over the edge, while steadying myself on a vertical I-beam, which turned out to have an active wasp nest attached.
Of course I had to take a photo of the nest, and in a flash a wasp stung me on the arm. I screamed and flailed around, waving my arm like a spaz, but very luckily did not flail myself over either of the nearby open edges, which would've meant an easy 50-foot drop.
While mid-flail I was peripherally aware of the wharf occupant half-sitting up to look over. I had disturbed his slumber. Discussing this poor soul later, we realized people don't really say "homeless" down here, instead if we have the parlance right, he is a transient.
Here are some tracks for sliding around cargo.
We were ready to be slid around on tracks ourselves after such a full day of exploration.