Stuck in the Mud

Let's start out with a joke.

A town in the Midwest was experiencing a terrible flood. The water rose very rapidly, and everybody was ordered to evacuate. Soon the water was so high that it began to cover the roofs of many buildings. A priest was standing on the roof of his house when a rescue crew came by in a boat.

"Father," they said. "Get in! We'll take you to safety!"

The priest shook his head and said, "The Lord will provide." The safety crew were surprised, but went on their way to help whoever else they could.

The water continued to rise, and a while later another rescue crew came by in another boat.

"Please, Father!" they cried. "Get in! The water is getting higher! We'll take you to safety!"

Again, the priest shook his head and said, "The Lord will provide."

The crew was saddened, but went off to help other people.

The water rose up to the priest's waist, and a helicopter came by to help him. "Father, this is your last chance! Soon the water will be too high for us to help!"

For the third time, the priest shook his head and said, "The Lord will provide." The helicopter flew away.

Eventually the water rose over the priest's head and he drowned. When he got to Heaven, he saw God and said, "Lord, I had faith in you! Why did you not help me? Why did you let me drown?"

God said, "Hey, I sent you two boats and a chopper! What more do you want?"

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The end product of my project thesis is a guidebook of cemetery preservation recommendations, and it is geared towards those in Natchitoches Parish. The parish is home to part of Kisatchie National Forest, which contains within its borders around three dozen known cemetery sites. My recommendations had not yet included anything concerning cemeteries in the middle of a forest, so on Wednesday (3/24) I headed out to find some. I stopped at the Work Station in Provencal, LA to ask if they knew where any were, particularly the Beasley Cemetery. They gave me a map that showed all the ones they knew about.

I first went to the one close by, and Geoff Lehmann from the station came out and talked with me for a few minutes. Then I got in the car and drove a few miles to the turnoff to the Beasley Cemetery. If you haven't clicked on the link already, here's one of the notes about getting there:

From this point the road is passable only in very dry weather, preferably using sport utility or all-terrain vehicles."

I got onto the dirt road, which was made up of hard clay, sand, and a bit of gravel. At times it was single-lane with high banks on the sides. About half a mile in, I saw the first sign that the road was not dry the whole way there. A muddy spot lay ahead of me. I went on ahead, but as I got into the muddy part I felt a danger signal go off in my brain, as it seemed like I may not make it through. I made it anyway. A couple hundred feet ahead I saw a fairly large puddle that stretched from one side of the road to the other, and I decided not to press my luck.

There was a side spot for cars to use to turn around or back into if there was something coming the other way, so I pulled into that, turned around, and headed back the way I came. This time, I was not so fortunate going through the mud. Three of the wheels were okay, but the front right got bogged down in some wet red clay mud and wouldn't budge. Further complicating matters was the fact that a lot of mud was very high up under the carriage, having the effect of lifting me up a little and preventing the other wheels from getting any sort of traction.

I got out and spent about half an hour trying to wedge branches under the stuck tire. I could get the car to go about an inch forward or backward, but it wouldn't really go anywhere. I even got down in the mud and tried to dig it out from under the car, but nothing worked. I picked up my cell phone to call my dad and let him know I might be late in helping out for the party he was hosting for about fifty people later that evening.

"SEARCHING FOR SERVICE"

Son of a *****.

I started walking back to the main road and called once I got a signal. I was pretty lucky to get one, as the Forest Service does not allow cell towers to be put up on their land. I told my dad where I was and asked him to call the work station to let them know what had happened. After getting off the phone, I started to wonder if the forest was home to Louisiana's state mammal (it turns out it isn't).

Once I got to the main road I stopped at a trailer and asked the owner if I could use his phone. "Don't have one," he said.

I kept walking, and someone I had spoken to earlier at the work station came and picked me up in his truck. We went back to my car, and he tried to pull me out with a chain. The chain slipped, and on its way loose pulled something else along with it. We saw a little hose-thingy (technical term) sticking out from under the front of the car, and saw and smelled fluid leaking. We digured we wouldn't be pulling it out with a chain, so he took me back to the station and I called a tow service. As it turns out, I called the one that everybody recommends. I'd like to think I made an educated decision, but they had the biggest ad in the phone book and it had the words "24 hour" and "heavy duty" in it.

While I was waiting for the tow truck to arrive, the Mayor of Provencal stopped by to make sure I was doing okay. He was as nice as could be, and he knew where I was going and where I was stuck. He's been to the cemetery I was trying to get to. And he had two big doberman pinschers in the back of his truck. The people at the work station were very hospitable, giving me water to drink and papers so I could do the crossword while I waited.

The tow truck got me out with no trouble and took me all the way home. The next day I took the car to the repair shop, where they said it was something related to the power steering that got pulled way (wayyyyyy) out of place by the chain. We had thought they would have to order a part, which would take who knows how long and costs who knows how much. Instead, he said he could repair it without the part, and I got it back the next day for several hundred dollars less than it could have cost.

When all was said and done, I ended up safe and sound, a little bit wiser and out a bit of money. My hands were sore and my fingers a little nicked up from trying to dig away at the red clay of the Kisatchie hills. I got taken care of by the best people for the job at every step of the way. I also learned that apparently 500,000 people in Natchitoches Parish (total population 39,492) have been to the Beasley Cemetery I was trying to find. My cousin told me I could use his four-wheeler to go back out there if I wanted. To which I said:

"I'm never leaving a paved road again."