Fester's Party Barn

Hey-ho, something different this week at Twisted Tales as I hand the reins over to guest blogger, friend, and sister-in-law, Julie Pederson McQueen. Why am I doing this? Because I found her recounting of a recent family vacation horrifying and hilarious, the way we like things around here. (Oh! And because the last time I tried to keep up drinking with Julie, I ended up with a broken leg! That's the kinda gal she is, just sayin'!). Take it away, Julie...

So as I sit here, self quarantining with my family, it reminds me of another time that I went through hell...enter "Fester’s Party Barn," located in Piedmont, Oklahoma. Friends had told us of the fun and charm of this "quaint" tourist trap, so we loaded up the family. But wait...let’s start at the very beginning. First, it’s 98 degrees out & WINDY.  Second, the drive, the endless, torturous drive! Picture this: happy family on an October day heading out on an adventure to the pumpkin patch, anticipating the petting zoo, hayride, big slide, oh my! And of course, pumpkins!!! What could be more fun?!?! Turns out, staying at home.

Fester's Party Barn is in nowhere land. We get lost and the boys start complaining. We, being parents, threaten to “TURN THIS CAR AROUND AND GO BACK HOME!” If only we had done that. However, on the wings of a prayer and dumb luck, we finally arrive at Fester’s Party Barn with excitement in our minds and our hearts.

So I’ve mentioned it’s October, time for Halloween, but it’s 98° outside and incredibly windy. Upon arrival, my husband and I, paste on our excited faces, and rouse the troops by shouting, “Yay! Come on, we get a free pumpkin, there’re animals to see, a hayride, a corn maze, and a big slide! Let’s go!!!” We forge ahead, fighting the winds of the plains. We may as well have been singing, “OooooOklahoma, where the wind comes sweeping down the plain!” Parking far away, we enter the (according to friends) beloved Fester‘s Party Barn. 

At the ticket booth, we discover our Groupon (yes, I said Groupon) doesn’t work. The accommodating clerk gets us the nice fat discount anyway. Good thing, too, because after it was all said and done, it should’ve been free. First stop at Fester's is the “petting zoo”. So two minutes in there, yeah we’re done, let’s move along. There's hand sanitizer at every stop, which might've been our first clue. (Keep in mind, this is before Corona virus time.) So we move past the petting zoo and look at the other animals--donkeys, horses--Really, I'm not sure what they were because I think I blocked it out. 

Next, we head to the refreshment/gift shop area for room temperature waters all around! I did mention it was like 98° right? Anyhoo, with brave parent faces strapped on, we say, "Hey, let’s do the hayride! Because it takes us to the corn maze that leads us to the big giant super duper slide!” We get on said hay ride, sans the hay, and we’re sitting on benches. A cyclone of wind  carries my husband's hat away. 

Apparently, we'd been through a drought, so the corn maze is chest high for the boys, at best.  We wave at each other in the next rows, say, "hello, whatever." My husband, ever the cheerleader, rallies with, “It’s gonna be all right guys, come on we can do it, the big slide is ahead!” The “big slide" isn't so big, the size of the slide I had on my jungle gym when I was five. Our older boy was good sport enough to go down it even though he rode down it with his arms crossed, looking really annoyed. It was awesome. That was the best part. 

Then we got back on the wagon ride (no hay, remember?), went back through the nonsense to pick out our free pumpkin, the choices about the size of my hand. At this point, everyone's cranky. The boys were like, “I don’t even want a pumpkin!” I was kind of the same but trying to salvage a little bit of adulthood so I wouldn’t leave my husband alone in his attempts at fun, but the rest of us were done. We put our “pumpkins” in the back of the car--because the cup holders were full--and drove home in silence.

 
Hey, guys and gals and monsters, it's me again, the usual author of this blog. While we're all hunkered down, trying to avoid the Vile-Cooties, and what-not, take back to reading. Your eyeballs ain't gonna like staring at a telephone and/or TeeVee screen for too long. Here're my (ahem) totally non-biased recommendations: http://bit.ly/StuartRWestBooks

 

Return to Oz

A couple years ago my wife and I visited the Amazon and I recounted that trip here. Today, I'm taking you on another tour, one just as exotic...to Oz, Kansas! You're welcome!

Of course it's not really called "Oz," but that's what some of the townies call it. It's a small Kansas town where my daughter ended up through convoluted reasons I'm sure she wouldn't care for me explaining. First things first, though... Everyone get it out of your system and say it with me: "I don't think we're in Kansas anymore, Toto!" There. Everyone happy with their lil' joke, one that Kansans have NEVER heard before and one that never gets old? Good. Let's go!

Oz doesn't have much. There's a Main Street and when I say "Main," everything is based off it. 

There's a courthouse, a mortuary, a Chinese restaurant cleverly named "Chinese Restaurant," a couple of dollar stores, a kazillion churches, three tattoo parlors, yet, not a single grocery store in the entire town! Lore has it that the last guy (the mysterious "Ron") who ran the market got run out of town for his crooked ways. 

We're talking John Brown country, the home of the famed anti-slavery bad boy/hero whose cabin was made into a museum.

But what is Oz truly famed for? Why it's extremely creepy and run-down mental institution! 

 Just take a look at these pics and tell me how in the world someone's mental health could be improved by their confinement within these brick walls and wired fences. It's enough to drive someone batty. 

On our drive-through and walk-about tour, I couldn't wait to get out of there.

We followed a strange, wooded and harrowing gravel road to nowhere ending in a locked gate with an ominous large black "X" painted across the faded sign. 

Even eerier, there was someone sitting off the side in a station wagon with tinted windows, the engine running. When my daughter hopped out of the car to take a photo, I told her to hurry up and get back in. We hightailed it outta there before we got chainsawed, my eyes glued to the rear-view mirror. We still couldn't figure out what that guy was doing there, weird place to take a lunch break.

Time works differently in Oz. My daughter's house needed a ton of work, including an emergency fix of the bathroom sink's plumbing. The first guy who answered the phone got the job and changed our lives forever. Because that's how long it takes him and his brother to fix things: forever. Amiable enough, and eventually getting around to doing good work, they don't believe in rushing anything. They'd show up for an hour, then say, "hey, we're gonna go grab a quick bite of lunch, and be back in a minute." Two hours or so later, they'd return for another one hour work detail. And on and on it went. My daughter and I figured they'd found a wonderful cafe in Oklahoma they liked to dine at. Regardless, time is fluid in Oz and no one seems to be in a hurry, catering to their bellies their top priority.

Folks there are nice as well, for the most part. Lots of waving and polite driving, unlike what I'm accustomed to in the big bad Kansas City metro area. Cordial to a fault, sometimes you can't get out of a long-winded conversation with a convenience store clerk or get the pick-up truck in front of you to move faster than 5 MPH. Still, it's almost refreshing after the heart-attack hustle of KC.

We wound up our tour of Oz at the town's sole bar, "Cookies." 

"Cookies needs to be experienced, Dad," said my daughter. So, we pulled into a gravel-filled parking lot in front of a large tin shed. Not knowing what to expect, my daughter grinning, we entered the domain of the doomed. One guy held up the bar. Behind the bar was a listing of specialty drinks, every one of them filthier in name than the last. The menu carried one type of food: grease.

Not even a passable pool player, my daughter talked me into a game after a few beers. Little did I know we were in the middle of a pool tournament. I proceeded to shoot the cue ball off the table onto the tournament players tables. My daughter, red from embarrassment and laughter, said, "Dad, I'll be in the car!" I hurried after her.

We ended at the infamous "Whistle Stop," a diner that advertised $2.00 tacos and beer. Bargain! My daughter was acquainted with the owner, a customer of hers. However, the seated woman was rather chilly with us and sorta looked disgusted that we'd ordered beers, the only sign of trouble we'd had in Oz.

The next day, when I got home, I experienced a sorta surreal culture shock. "Huh," I said aloud, "I don't think we're in Kansas anymore." My wife rolled her eyes.

Hey, have you ever visited Gannaway, Kansas? It's just a hop, skip, jump from Oz, set a little west of there. My "travelogue," Ghosts of Gannaway, details all of my research of the haunted little burg. It's a nice place to read about, but trust me...you DON'T want to visit.

Adventures in the Amazon: Aftermath and Aftermess

Goodbye Peru...

Well, all good things must come to an end, I suppose. Even if there were times I didn't think I'd survive the Amazon jungle. Not due to life-threatening situations, mind you, but rather the strenuous activities of hiking through a sauna-like environment in long pants, shirts, and those damned boots.

But I made it. Even though the plane trips back were trying--eight days in the jungle and no ailments, but everyone on the plane was hacking and wheezing, sure to be my downfall; also, we had an encounter with an ugly American teenage girl who tried to cut in line (but my wife put a stop to that!)--we began the long, dull process of settling back into routine.

Fun in a germ-ridden flying tin can!

Kansas seemed rather...lifeless. Sure, it felt safer and was definitely cleaner, but it lacked the energy, the vibrancy of Iquitos and the unfettered nature of the jungle. Everything about the Midwest appeared so ho-hum.

BO-RING!

Except, of course, for my week-long bout with diarrhea. Yay, TMI! (At least I didn't suffer while in the jungle; I can't even begin to imagine...wait, yes I can).

Wake me when we leave Kansas...

I learned a lot on my adventures. While I'm not quite ready to bunker down in a tent (too many serial killers lurking in the woods), or go backpacking in the Himalayas (too many yetis), or cannonball into a hot tub with Buddha (not enough room for both of us), I've decided to embrace nature as my friend. Finally. Call me ridiculous, but the other day there was a grotesque, hard-carapaced bug skittering down the hallway. I managed to scoop him up and put him outside. In the past, he would've been instant floor-kill.

The incredible power of the Amazon--nature at its wildest, most untainted state--proved awe-inspiring, not only in its beauty and yin and yang of terror, but also in the potential it has as a natural state of energy. If people would learn to coexist peacefully with the river, harness it without doing damage, it has the potential to power a good chunk of the world. It is to be respected.

So are people. After my trip, I've vowed to try and be nicer. A tough chore, but I'm committed. Our visit to Iquitos made me realize just how "rich" we are, comparatively speaking. We saw squalor, miserable living conditions, and even worse health care issues. But the locals' living conditions didn't get them down. On the contrary, they carried on with life, making our trials and tribulations appear petty. We could all learn something from the people of Peru.

I also came out the other side with the pleasure of bonding with new friends and reacquainting with old ones. You can't go through a boot camp of that type, storming the gates of hell, without growing close to those experiencing the trip next to you. And seeing as I write full-time from home, it was the most socializing I'd done in years. Big ol' honkin' baby steps!

New friends/family!

Best of all, I love the fact that "jungle pants" has become a nonchalantly dropped word in our everyday lexicon.

Onward and upward, the world's a great big, ol' beautiful and wondrous and scary place, much more than my previously staked-out back yard of Kansas City. I can't wait to explore more. (But, um, just with air conditioning this time).

Peace.

Adventures in the Amazon Final Day: Day Drinking with a Shaman!

During our final meal at the lodge, one of the teens in our group mesmerized Antonio, our shaman in tow, with excellent sleight-of-hand coin tricks. Pretty amazing, something I thought I'd never witness: old magic meeting new.

Our new family.

Even more astounding is what transpired on our last day in the jungle, something I never thought I'd do in my lifetime, something that I'd never even considered: day-drinking with a shaman!

Cheers! ("Tink.")

We were told we were visiting the rum "factory." Yay! Something finally more my speed. Still, to get there we had to go via boat, so I blundered into my usual seat (the anchor position), and off we went. Across from our destination, I witnessed entropy in action as a tree toppled into the river with a gargantuan splash. Just another amazing sight, one of many. But the best was yet to come.

Shaman at work in the rum factory.

Calling the rum joint a "factory" was pure embellishment. Our tour consisted of standing around a hot shed, where an old-fashioned press was operated by a horse to squeeze sugar from cane. Antonio passed around the resultant sugar for us to sip from. I figured if I hadn't caught a rare disease by now, sharing germs with my fellow travelers wasn't gonna kill me. 

Victor explaining rum to a thirsty crowd.

Our shaman then dumped the resultant sugar into a fermenting barrel. Once he set the bowl back on the ground, a friendly pig lapped up the rest (I still don't know if he was a family pet or breakfast). Hey, alcohol kills germs! Apparently the pig had too much to drink and then sat on my wife's feet.

Rum-guzzling pig.

We hurried through the rest of the "tour": there's the fermenting barrel, over there's the oven to boil it, bla, bla, bla, let's drink!

All creatures, great and small, love them some rum.

Gathered around a table, three bottles were plopped down in front of us. Again, we shared a shot glass, all of us practically family now. After the first several shots, germs began to not matter so much.

Na zda-ró-vye! 

Ay caramba, dios mio!

The first bottle was straight up "aguardiente," aka "firewater." Akin to grain alcohol, it could strip paint off a wall and melt a clown's face. My chest nicely warmed, we moved onto the next bottle of booze, a ginger-infused alcohol.

To your health!

Antonio nudged my wife, pointed at the bottle, then wound a finger around his ear: muy loco! Didn't stop him from enjoying his rum, though. What's good for a shaman's good for me. 

Here's mud in your eye!

Ay, yi, yiiii, Viagra!

Next came "Siete Raices," which Antonio described as Viagra. For some reason, the factory owner kept pushing it on me. Did he know something I didn't? Hey, who was I to stand in the way of medicine?

Down the hatch!

Soon, our guide Victor filled up his cup by mixing two of the rums. He claimed it was Antonio's fault since he said he needed his Viagra. We weren't about to let him drink by himself, so the men joined him. 

Education can be fun!

Salute! 

Not to be outdone, the women had their turn at the bottles. Again and again. 

Gettin' some good learnin' done about nature!

Cin-cin!

A perfect way to end our jungle adventures, this went on for a while...

Incredibly, my boat balance appeared to have improved by the time we left.

Prost!

All in all, a very peculiar day. Which leads me into an extremely awkward and shameless segue: Have you read Peculiar County yet? Here's what critic "The Cellophane Queen" had to say about it: "Amazingly good. Brilliant. Pitch perfect characterizations and intriguing use of language remind me of the master writer, Stephen King. Dibby is a heroine of the first order taking charge in a very Peculiar County in Kansas." Visit alluring and strange Peculiar County now.