Road trip to Tremont

Mardi Gras week and nowhere to go.
With a gallon of gas costing more than a six pack of Yuengling, driving to New Orleans is out of the question. Even if a gallon of gas cost less than a half gallon of Guers iced tea, I wouldn’t go.

I don’t like to leave the county’s borders except for an occasional trip to Luzerne or Lackawanna County to watch the trials of the government officials, some elected, some appointed – judges, count commissioners, row officers, school board members, housing authority board members, meter maids, patrol boys; the whole gammit.

Mammy enjoyed the trials too; sitting in the courtroom with her lady friends who all knitted while the testimony was given. Why knitting? Not because it made her feel like Madame Defarge in Dickens’ “Tale of Two Cities.” No, but because my birthday was coming up and she wanted to make me a sweater. So very thoughtful of her.

I feel secure here. Schuylkill County is my cocoon. It is my fortress, my sanctuary. This is why I stay here. The outside world means nothing to me. My world begins and ends in the four corners of this county.
I told Mammy that we would celebrate Mardi Gras in the french settlements of the county. We could get there and back and still have money left over for some Yuengling and Guers iced tea. I got out my map of Schuylkill County and looked for the French areas. At first we thought we would go to La Velle but we changed our minds. It was too small.
We finally decided we would celebrate Mardi Gras in the French village of Tremont. At first, Mammy questioned if that was truly a french area. I responded that it had to be a French settlement with a name like that. Tres means “three” and mont means “mountain.” I took three years of French so I knew what I am talking about. What else could it be? Comprenez-vous ?


I told her that it was settled by French fur trappers many years ago but with the closing of Pollack’s and the three other Pottsville furrier stores, fur trapping as a livelihood took it on the chin. The French settlers took their pelts and moved away. People around don’t wear fur anymore. People around here wear caps made in China, and tee shirts and sweat pants made in Vietnam.

So off we went in our F-150. We ended up in Tremont on Mardi Gras Day, or Fat Tuesday as some call it. We felt out of place walking around the Main Street in our costumes. With Spa 61 now shut down, Mammy got a good deal on a real cute outfit. She looked adorable. However no one else in town had on a costume, only baseball caps, tee shirts, sweat pants, and an occasional NASCAR jacket. I wore the Border Patrol costume that I purchased from someone north of the mountain who didn't need it anymore.

Tremont was so quiet. There were neither floats nor krews nor women flashing themselves in order to get some cheap plastic beads made in China. I dangled a few beads in front of a few women heading into the bank but I got no takers. I guess they had all the cheap plastic beads they needed. After standing in front of the old Tremont movie theatre (that is a French word for theater) we found a small downtown bistro. We sat down and were content to spend the rest of the day dining on fasnachts. These are delicious doughnuts that are deep-fried in lard that are then sprinkled with confectioners’ sugar. My mouth is now watering just thinking about them. I ate all of those in the photo to your left. Fasnachts became popular after the departure of the french fur trappers, or maybe the trappers all died off after eating too many fasnachts and that resulted in the Pottsville furriers shutting down their stores? Who knows?

In the words of Nancy Reagan, “Just Say Dough –nut; laissez les bon temps roulez."