My Dad's final duty station was at Cherry Point working in the Naval Air Rework Facility (NARF). Having lived around screaming jets all my life the thought of leaving this kind of life, surrounded by the military and all the 'adventures' that encompasses made me wonder if maybe I could convince him to stay in, but probably not. By this time Vietnam was beginning to heat up and we would occasionally see the "notification teams" enter our neighborhood, not realizing the meaning of that or understanding really why the family so visited soon moved away.
Bordering the area we lived was Slocum Creek; a small, meandering body of water that filled my head with all manner of adventurous thoughts (I told you it was a miracle I survived childhood). Having read and re-read Twain's novels of rafting on the Mississippi River, a few of us decided we needed to build a raft and do the same, if on a smaller scale. We went to an aircraft graveyard and found some discarded fuel tanks along with a few cargo pallets that seemed destined to carry us. Once we had assembled our 'ship' (I can't remember if we christened it with any name) we proceeded to 'set sail'. For some time we just poled it around Slocum Creek, but one day got the bright idea (yeah, I see you rolling your eyes) to go downstream with the current. We had a ball until we realized that we would soon be drifting into the Neuse River and from there to the Atlantic Ocean. Just as we reached the Neuse River, someone at the NCO boat club spotted us and came out and rescued us. Yeah, I kept my guardian angel on overtime!
Bordering the area we lived was Slocum Creek; a small, meandering body of water that filled my head with all manner of adventurous thoughts (I told you it was a miracle I survived childhood). Having read and re-read Twain's novels of rafting on the Mississippi River, a few of us decided we needed to build a raft and do the same, if on a smaller scale. We went to an aircraft graveyard and found some discarded fuel tanks along with a few cargo pallets that seemed destined to carry us. Once we had assembled our 'ship' (I can't remember if we christened it with any name) we proceeded to 'set sail'. For some time we just poled it around Slocum Creek, but one day got the bright idea (yeah, I see you rolling your eyes) to go downstream with the current. We had a ball until we realized that we would soon be drifting into the Neuse River and from there to the Atlantic Ocean. Just as we reached the Neuse River, someone at the NCO boat club spotted us and came out and rescued us. Yeah, I kept my guardian angel on overtime!
While we lived in Cherry Point my brothers and I became Boy Scouts, joining Troop 52 in Havelock, NC. I worked my way up to First Class, but didn't get further before we moved to Cape Carteret. The scoutmaster was a Marine, but had a gentle hand in leading the boys in the troop. We did get lost once in a hike in Croatan National Park, but through judicious use of a compass (and perhaps some heartfelt prayers?) soon found our way to where we wanted to go.
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I'm not sure how 'citified' Havelock and the surrounding area has become since we lived there, but back in the mid-1960s it was pure country as exemplified by the image to the right. This device was part of a tourist stop (aka trap) beside Hwy. 70 between New Bern and Havelock.
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