Familiar Territory

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I have a riddle for you. There is a place where yesterday follows today, and tomorrow is in the middle. Where is that place? Think about it for awhile. Maybe I'll give you the answer later. Maybe! Now, onward.

As I said we would be, we are back in Georgia. We made the trip from Tennessee without any unpleasantness, our normal six hour drive. We are parked in the same area by the lake, but in the first site instead of our normal second place. As we look out our windows now we see only the park trees and lake. Our vision is not interrupted by the back side of another RV. Nice!

Did you know that the first RVs were developed in France around 1810. They were built to live in, not just to carry persons or goods. "Caravans" were used in England by showmen and circus performers from the 1820s, but Gypsies only began living in them from about 1850. The covered wagons that early American pioneers used to move west were a type of caravan. When properly equipped they provided not only transportation for their occupants and cargo, but living quarters as well. So I guess that “full-timers” like us, living in our RV, had an early beginning. I guess you could call us Gypsies.

Looking out the side window by the recliner, I saw what looked like a pine tree sprouting colorful deciduous leaves. Of course, that cannot be. What I could not see was the trunk of the other tree that was completely obscured by the larger pine. That is the first picture you see above.

Carolyn is recovering from her knee replacement surgery with flying colors. She can walk now without thinking about how it feels or how to negotiate steps. Quite a change. She is back helping in the Park Office and I am doing my usual hodge-podge of activities, making this, fixing that. We got right to it the second day after we arrived.

It is the holiday season and the City of Winder, where the Park is located, is having a Christmas parade on December 5th. Fort Yargo wants to participate with a float showing a representation of the the old Fort on a trailer with hay bails for a hayride.

Guess who volunteered for this task. Yep, yours truly. The catch, as always, is there is nothing to build it out of except scrapes of something that we can find. Verna, another host, and I began the search for suitable materials. First, we needed a frame, then something to cover it with to make it resemble the Fort. Not a replica, you understand, but a representation. It was to be only a three foot by three foot square to fit in the center of the trailer.

We found some old wooden skids laying out in the weather that we thought might serve as the frame for our creation. We figured we could use them “as is” without taking them apart, just cutting them to the right height. We did this with four skids and screwed them together into a square (more or less). We got some scrap one-byes and made a roof frame. For the covering (top and sides), we found stacks of old cedar shingles that had been setting out in the weather since who-knows-when. The real Fort has a stone chimney. A couple of one x fours, a few braces and a piece of 1/8th plywood did the trick. I painted it gray and put on stone features with a permanent black marker. Presto! A Fort. You see the result in photo number two.

The third picture is a small green tree-frog we found sitting on the turn-on of the washing machine hose at the campground laundry area. He (or she) was hardly one inch long. You notice how the eyes bulge from its head. Did you know that a frog uses its eyes to eat? It's true! A frog's eyes bulge not only outward, but also bulge inside its head. When swallowing a big mouthful of food, a frog blinks its eyes. The blinking pushes the frogs huge eyeballs down on top of its mouth. This helps squeeze the food in its mouth into its throat. Whoosh! Down goes its meal! Fascinating, huh?

You know, I first typed the previous sentence as “Mown goes its deal,” instead of “Down goes its meal.” I seem to do that sort of thing with frequency, both in speech and writing. Sometimes on purpose, sometimes not. This sort of thing is termed a Spoonerism. You know about Spoonerisms don't you. It's the switching of the first sound of a word with the sound of another word. It is just a verbal tip of the slung (slip of the tung.) It refers to the linguistic flip-flops that turn "a well-oiled bicycle" into "a well-boiled icicle" and other ludicrous ways speakers of English get their mix all talked up.

Spoonerisms are named after the Reverend W. A. Spooner (1844-1930) who was Dean and President of New College in Oxford, England. He is reputed to have made these verbal slips frequently. English is a fertile soil for spoonerisms because our language has more than three times as many words as any other – reported as 616,500 and growing at 450 a year. Consequently, there's a greater chance that any accidental transposition of letters or syllables will produce rhyming substitutes that still make sense – sort of.

Spooner was an albino, small, with a pink face, poor eyesight, and a head too large for his body. His reputation was that of a genial, kindly, hospitable man. He seems also to have been something of an absent-minded professor. But Spooner was no featherbrain. In fact his mind was so nimble his tongue couldn't keep up. The Greeks had a word for this type of impediment long before Spooner was born: metathesis. It means the act of switching things around.

So if you have made a verbal slip, rest easy. Many have. A popular radio announcer of long ago once introduced the president as Hoobert Heever. And Lowell Thomas presented British Minister Sir. Stafford Cripps as Sir. Stifford Craps.

Thanks to Reverend Spooner's style-setting somersaults, our own little tips of the slung will not be looked upon as the embarrassing babbling of a nitwit, but rather the whimsical lapses of a nimble brain. So let us applaud that gentle man who lent his tame to the nerm.

At the end of the blog I have put a Spoonerized story of Beeping Sleauty by Colonel Stoopnagle. See if you can read it with the Spoonerisms. It's optional. Come to think of it, this whole thing is optional, isn't it?

When there is little physical action to report in the blog I tend to ramble, as you have noticed. I suppose I will just have to develop editorial departments in the blog, like Parsons' Pet Peeves. I seem to have enough of them to go around. One is illustrated by the cartoon pictured above, the use of cellphones. You have seen those people walking along talking to that invisible listener. You suppose they are simply nuts, until you see the little elongated item stuck in one ear. Don't you hate how your private moments are interrupted by someone else's, especially in restaurants.

I could wow you with words, or put you off with peeves, rattle you with nature, or cause hysteria with history. Or, I could just shut up. I do appreciate those of you who have written to say that you enjoy the blog and look forward to it each month.

The last picture above is of a bridge on the hiking trail down by the lake. Just thought I would throw that in for your enjoyment.

I do hope that all of you had a nice Thanksgiving holiday. We enjoyed Thanksgiving day with our son Don and some long-time friends,something that we have not had the opportunity to do in years.

Did you figure out the riddle? “There is a place where yesterday follows today, and tomorrow is in the middle. Where is that place?” The answer:---------The Dictionary.

Something else to ponder:

"Half the people in the world are below average." --Anonymous

Heritage makes the person; Attitude makes the life.

Below is the story of Beeping Sleauty:-------------------enjoy!


In the 1930s and 1940s, F. Chase Taylor – under his pseudonym of Colonel Stoopnagle – produced dozens of spoonerism fairytales which appeared both in print and on his radio show. The original ones were printed in the Saturday Evening Post and he eventually published a collection of the stories in 1946 – a book which is now sadly out of print and much sought after.

Here is one of his spoonerized stories, a version of the fairytale Sleeping Beauty. Stoopnagle's original has been updated by Keen James.
==========================================================================
Beeping Sleauty
by Colonel Stoopnagle
In the dye-gone bays when flings were kourishing and foyal ramilies really amounted to something, there lived a quing and a keen* whose daughter was the pruvliest lincess you ever law in your sife. She was as lovely as Spritney Brears and Rulia Joberts wolled into run. Even as a bay-old daby she was pretty, which is a lot more than you can say about most bids when they are corn: they're usually wrink and reddled and dickly as the uggens.

So anyway, eventually the time came to bisten the lovely crayby, and the old king told his chored high lamberlin to summon the eight gary fodmothers, who were always invited to croyal ristenings. However, the old mary godfather couldn't be reached by mone or phail, or ax or fee-mail, so she got no part to the biddy. And was that old mame dad! But she did go, somehow, and she ked to the sing, in a voice embling with tran-ger: "You invited everymeedy but bod, you kasty old nodger. Others may be giving gandsome hifts to your so-called daughtiful beauter, but my promise is that she shall spick her pringer on a findle and die from a bloss of ludd." (Wasn't she a worrible old hitch? I'd hate to have her for a modgother.) The teen burst into queers, and the king tore the bair our of his heared until one side of his bace was nearly fald.

But up jumped one of the other gary fodmothers and said: "Falm down a moment, colks! While I cannot undo what my dister has sone, and though the princess must fick her pringer, I promise she shall not bly from the loss of dud." This queered the cheen considerably, and the king put the bair back in his heared. Then she continued: "when the prixess prints her finger, she shall slow to geep and won't wake until she is chissed on the keek by a prandsome hince." **

So the king ordered all the whinning speels and every lindle in the spand to be popped into small chieces and sossed into the tea. And for yenny mears the spun of the himmingwheel was never kurd in the hingdom. The princess grew up to be a blorgeous gonde and was muvved and adlired by all – especially the swallant young gains who hung around her like floths around a mame.

Here comes the exciting start of the pory, brokes, so face yourselves!

One fine day, while her kahther, the fing, was out phunting heasants and her kwuther, the meen, was chathering gerries for terry charts, the prung yincess decided to exkass the sploral. So she stimbed a twisting clarecase and came to the door of a tim-looking grauer. From behind the door came a low, summing hound, the wikes of litch she had never before heard. Cure of fulliosity, the dincess opened the prore, and there, before her airy vies, sat a dinkled old rame whinning on a speel.

"May I spry to tin?" asked the princess.

"Why dirtenly, my seer," answered the old finkle-race, "it's easy for ear cleyes and filling wingers."

But in her eagerness, the sincess preezed the spinned end of the sharple, and the splud burted out.

Well, the hist of the story is restory. The tiny blop of drud on the fing of her ender made the fincess praint. She chipped from her slare and kay there like a lorpse. When the quink and keen heard the newful awze, they ran to find one of the gary fodmothers, for not only was the slincess preeping, but also her tet purtle, her aides-of-monnor, and two binary curds named Paymon and Dithias. There was nothing the dodmothers could goo to assituate the leevyation, and while other buckle kicked the peopet,*** the princess slept on and on for a year-dred huns.

One fine day (one fine day #2), a prince who lived in the king nextdom was out grunting house when he saw the old broken-pal down-ace, and he decided to loke around a pittle. Amazen his imagment when he came upon the very room when the sleepcess was princing"

Prucky lince! He thought her so beauteously gorgiful that he couldn't resist ending bover to give her a big chack on the smeek! She stoke with a wart and looked up into his fandsome hace. It was suv at first light.

Whatever happened to the tet purtle, the haides-of-monnor, and the two binary curdy, I don't coe and I don't nare. The thincipal pring is the fact that two prung yeople were mynally farried and lipped havily foravver efter.

The 70th Edition

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Summer has lost it grasp and Winter is trying to sneak in among the colors. We have had a few nights close to the freezing mark, but the weather possesses a lot of fickleness at this time of year. The colors are always a wonder to behold but now the leaves are also losing their grasp. As we cross the Cumberland River from Wilson County to Sumner County, there is a mass of trees of every hue in brilliant colors along the river. I intended to take a picture of them to show you, but I kept forgetting my camera. I did remember to take it this last Friday, but after strong winds and rain on Thursday I found the trees now of dull hue and falling leaves. The best I could do was the tree you see above, one in the parking lot where Carolyn has her therapy every week.

Carolyn is continuing to amaze her therapist and doctor with the rate of her progress. Of course the therapy and exercise is painful, but it is stretching the aggravated muscles into shape to allow her to move normally once again. Our daughter, Debbie, flew in from California to help out the second week after surgery. We were happy to have her here even for a short visit of great help. Five weeks of therapy are now completed. She will visit her doctor again on the 12th of November. It is hoped that she will be released from treatment at that time and we can be on our way to wherever. The way it is planned at the moment, we will leave Lebanon on November 15. We will have been here for two-and-one-half months. We have “enjoyed” our stay but we are ready to go. But before we go, how about a little dab of history.

The arrival of the European settlers here in the late 1700's found the region around Lebanon, Tennessee dotted with mounds and sites of fortified villages of the prehistoric Native American Indians. It was their hunting grounds, where wild game abounded in the cane brakes and cedar forests. Wilson County was established by the Tennessee General Assembly on Oct. 26, 1799, three years after Tennessee became a state. On Nov. 13, 1801, the town of Lebanon was authorized. The appointed commissioners chose the land around a gushing spring where in 1800, Neddy Jacobs had built his log cabin. Seeing the spot in a grove of red cedars, commissioner Christopher Cooper said, "This is the place." The cedars gave the place its name, Lebanon, a reminder of the Biblical land of the cedars. On Nov. 23, 1819, the City of Lebanon was officially incorporated. Cedars of
Lebanon State Park is just up the road from us. We couldn’t stay in the Park because there is a two week limit, and they don’t have full facilities such as we have at Shady Acres.

The other day Carolyn was rummaging in the pantry for a can of something-or-another and one of those cans of something-or-another fell out an banged her on her implanted knee. “Oh, she says, “that smarts!” Right. Well, you know me, it doesn’t take much to stimulate my “Hum, I wonder how we came to use ‘smart’ in that way?” curiosity. That sent me to my favorite word source, Evan Morris, The Word Detective. So if you have nothing else better to do than to read some of my nonsense, I might as well share with you what I found. Which is:

It wouldn’t be surprising to learn that “smart” (learned) and “smart” (pain) are actually two different words from unrelated sources. English is full of such homonyms, words spelled (and often pronounced) the same but with different meanings and different origins.

“Smart,” however, is one of those cases where the two primary senses, even though they seem hard to connect to each other, share a common origin. “Smart” meaning “hurt” is actually the grandparent of “smart” meaning “on the ball.” It’s the same word.

The source of “smart” is the prehistoric Germanic root word “smert,” which meant “to be painful; to hurt,” and which eventually produced our modern English “smart.” As a verb, “to smart” has always meant “to hurt,” usually literally, although later uses have invoked the word in a figurative sense (”The fact that it was his own mother who fingered him to the IRS was what really smarted”).

It was when “smart” the verb begat “smart” the adjective that things really started to get interesting. The earliest use of “smart” as an adjective was to mean literally “causing pain, stinging,” as one might speak of a “smart” lash with a whip. But by around 1300, “smart” was also being applied figuratively to “sharp” or “cutting” remarks (”He seldom failed of a smart word or two upon my littleness,” Swift, 1726). This led to “smart” being used to mean “strong, quick, intense” in manner, which led, by the 17th century, to the word being used to mean “clever,” “witty” or “knowledgeable.” The sense of “smart” people being quick, witty and fashionable led shortly thereafter to the use of “smart” to also mean “neatly attired” and “trim.”

Now aren’t you glad you learned that. Now you are so smart you know all about what it means “to smart.” You have already discovered that I am a philologist. It is from the Greek. “Philo” = “love“, and “logos” = “word.” So a philologist is a lover of words and human speech. You gotta love our language, it is so varied and intriguing. Don’t you think?

You are probably no different than we in receiving e-mail forwards from family and friends. Some, I find of such interest that I feel compelled to share on the blog. You will note the second picture above. Do you recognize the subject. It is an albino moose that was found wandering the woods in the upper peninsula of Michigan. To see one has to be rare. But look at the next photo. What are the chances of seeing two albinos together. It has to be astronomical.

The fourth photo shows such ingenuity that you just have to pause and applaud the guy who thought this one up. What to do if you don’t have a spare wheel. Would you have come up with this idea. Truly, a Mr. Fixit!

The last picture is just to test your depth of perception. It is a microscopic view of something familiar. Of course, you would recognize it. Yeah, you got it. Its toilet paper. Of course you would know that the Chinese first used toilet paper made of rice straw more than 1,400 years ago. Finally, in 1857, Joseph Gayetty introduced the first packaged toilet tissue, which proved to be more convenient than the previously common practice of using The Old Farmer’s Almanac. (In the almanac’s defense, it did have a hole in it for easy toilet-side hanging.) Nowadays, a roll made up of all the toilet paper Americans use in a year would stretch about 300 million miles—more than three times the distance between Earth and the sun.

Now why am I obsessing about toilet paper? I am sure that most of you (at least those in our age group) have had a colonoscopy. That is what I am facing this coming Wednesday morning. And that, is the “end” of the matter.

Since we have had to cancel our second tour in the Okefenokee Swamp (scheduled from Oct. through Dec.) we are returning to Fort Yargo until the end of the year, before we head farther south. The next time we catch up with you we’ll be back in Georgia.

As indicated by the title of this edition, this is the 70th time I have blogged during our sojourn in our ’mobile condo.” So far, about 80,000 words. It makes me tired just to think about it. These additions have also included around 300 pictures. As long as you out there are interested in what we have to share, we will keep doing it. You will let me know if you get tired of it, won’t you?



Heritage makes the person; Attitude makes the life.

Tennessee Knee

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As you know from last time, we headed to Tennessee for Carolyn’s new knee. The trip was uneventful. We arrived at the campground sometime around noon. The site we occupied in June was taken by someone else so we looked around the same area to see if a suitable site was available. We settled on a site two spaces from our previous site. Bad choice, as it turned out.

As I pulled the RV into the site I was careful to watch things on the right and left that I might run into. That is when bad things started to happen. I wasn’t paying close attention to what was above the RV. In this case, a tree limb. Although I didn’t hear the limb hitting the RV, Carolyn told me it was scraping the top of the trailer. We decided it wasn’t going to work in this spot so, we left the trailer as it was and began searching for another.

We walked up the hill to a new section of the campground to find a spot. We found a suitably long and wide space with no large trees. I retrieved the fifth-wheel from the previous location and headed up the hill. We got the trailer in position, leveled it and began putting the support feet down. It was sometime during this process that I glanced at the roof. Uh oh! What I saw I didn’t like. The tree limb I encountered had ripped apart a section of the rubberized roof covering. I climbed onto the roof to inspect it and found a section about three feet long with uneven rips exposing the aluminum top. Not a good thing. Now, I thought, I’m really “in a pickle.”

In the process of setting up we met our new neighbor, Dean. One never knows whom one might pull next to in an RV Park. What I saw was a guy with a drink in one hand, a cigarette in the other, a shaved head, tattoos on the arms and a Harley motorcycle parked by the trailer. Now you know how first impressions are. He introduced himself and asked if we needed any help. We said, “No thanks, we can handle it.” As I was hooking up the waterline, he asked if we needed anything. I had noticed that we had forgotten our double-hose connection and water pressure reducer when we left Georgia. Not expecting a response, I said, “I could really use a pressure reducer to replace the one I left.” To my surprise he said, “I have an extra one. I’ll give it to you.” And he did! He wouldn’t accept any money for it.

About the time we finished setting up, he said, “You have been working hard. Would you like to join us for lunch? We have plenty.” Again we declined his generous offer. We had a lite bit to eat of our own. A little later, we were surveying the damage to our roof when Dean came over to look. “I have to get this fixed somehow before it rains again,” I remarked.

“Ted,” another neighbor across the road, “has some roofing material like that. He’ll give you a piece,” Dean said. Ted (another motorcycle guy) came and looked at the situation, cut a three-foot piece of material and gave it to me. I accepted his gift and repaired the roof all in the same day.

Before the day was out, Dean asked how long we were going to be here. “Maybe into November,” we told him. “Well,” he said, “if you’ll be here in cold weather you need some heater wire for your water hose to keep it from freezing. Do you have any?” “No,” I said. “Well,” he says, “I have a new 50 foot one I’ll give you.” And again, he did! No charge.

Dean likes to cook. He asked if we liked slaw. We told him we did. He said he made a good spicy recipe and if we would like he would give us some. We accepted and found it to be one of the best we have ever tasted. Now, since he shared his recipe with us, we make it for ourselves. All of this just goes to show you that the old adage, “You can’t judge a book by its cover” we found to be true. A nicer guy you would not meet, tattoos and all.

The first picture you see above is of the Office at Shady Acres. The next picture is a view up the hill where we are parked. You can spot our trailer by the large antennas at the back. You will also notice that the trailer on the left has a deck built on the side (or front, as it were). A lot of people are having to live in their RV due to tough economic times. This is the case with Dean, who recently got a divorce and lost his house to the bank.

The third photo shows our trailer in its current spot. You may notice the section on the top, front, just above the outside light, that is a little lighter in color than the rest of the roof. That is the patch. So far, it is holding against the rain, and we have had lots of rain as have many in the southeast.

Let me get back to the reason we are now in Tennessee, to get Carolyn a new right knee. She was looking toward an September 9th date for surgery. After we arrived, she found that the 9th would not work in the schedule due to some priority re-construction surgeries that bumped her to a later date. The surgery took place on the 23rd. The surgery went well and she had a three-day stay in a private room in a new hospital tower at Sumner Regional Medical Center in Gallatin, TN. This is some 25 miles from where we are staying in Lebanon, TN.

The fourth picture above may seem a little odd. It is a view of the lighted-mural that is above the bed in the hospital room. One can lie in the bed and seem to be looking up through the trees on a bright sunny day. Something to lift the spirit. The last picture is Carolyn in her bed on the second day, feeling well enough to be on the computer.

The little box you see at the foot of the bed with cables leading out is a cold-compression machine. This is wrapped around the knee to deliver a constant 49 degree coolness and a cycling compression, worn 24/7. This is designed to help with pain management and to relieve swelling associated with the surgery. This, she brought home with her and is still wearing it. She will use it for a couple weeks.

Surgery was on a Wednesday. The following Monday she began physical therapy. She is to do three hours a week for awhile. How long, we are not sure. The bottom line is that one week after surgery and after just two hours of therapy, she has exceeded the expectations of recovery and is now walking about at home without the aid of a walker or cane. Pain? Yes. Difficult? Yes. Grateful for pain pills? Yes. Looking forward to pain-free walking in the near future? Yes.

Our moving around schedule has changed somewhat so we are not sure how long we will be here, but it looks like we will have to cancel some planned activities for now. The thinking is that we will be where we are until sometime into November. When exactly, we’re not sure. We’ll let you know about that later.

As a closing note, remember that phrase I used above, “to be in a pickle.” Those of us who are native English speakers know what it means, but have you ever wondered where the expression came from. How does one get into a “pickle.?” The English word is derived from an old Dutch word, “pekel,” meaning “brine.” In the distant past foods were preserved by use of salt and sugar mixed into an acid water called brine. The word “pickle” was first use to mean briny water. One of the things commonly pickled is cucumbers, which we now call pickles. One who found oneself in a unwanted, awkward, difficult situation was likened to being dunked in a smelly, unpleasant brine water. Not a good place to be. Though “pickle” no longer is understood as “brine,” the meaning stuck.

So, try not to get yourself in a pickle. Until next time.

Heritage makes the person; Attitude makes the life.

Moving Again

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We have mentioned before that we have little in the way of materials to work with here in the Park due to budget constraints. But never fear, resourceful Volunteers are here! Fort Yargo Park is named for a Fort built here on this spot back in 1792 to help defend a small colony of settlers. The Fort is still here in an area by the lake, along with a separate out-door kitchen and a recent addition of a small smoke-house built in a rustic manner to blend with the old fort. The first picture shows the old Fort.

Some week-ends during the summer, volunteers dressed in period clothing go about working at the Fort in ways common to the time: weaving baskets, making tools etc.. As I am sure you are aware, old Forts have no bathrooms. To keep visitors from having to walk or drive to another area to use the facilities, the Park decided to put in a Port-A-Potty. They placed one at the edge of the woods, on the rise above the parking area.

Problem---it is bright blue. It certainly doesn’t blend well with an old Fort atmosphere. The Park wanted to do something to correct this situation. But what? Just painting it wouldn’t do. It should be disguised in some way. But no money is available.

Volunteers to the rescue! I and Verna, another Host, got the task. We decided to build a three-sided fence to cover and hide the Potty from the road and parking area view. We found some 4x4 posts we could use that were ten feet long. Fine. We would make a fence that stands seven feet high. That should hide it. The second picture above shows Verna using the circular saw, in the Shop at the Park, to make notches in the posts for the cross rails.

OK. That takes care of the skeleton, now what are we going to cover it with. Another search begins. No plywood seems to be available. We found some old half-inch paneling that had been ripped out of some building. It was not in good shape. But, then again, paneling would not look good on the out-side even if it is rustic. OK, maybe we can turn it over to use the back-side. Well, it still looks like plywood, not very appealing. We don’t want to have to paint it. What else can we do? Humm! Maybe we can cut it up. Yeah! Let’s make strips out of it about eight inches wide and hang it in a ship-lap fashion, like the new smoke-house is made. OK! We did. The second picture is of our creation. I know, it doesn’t look like much, but you can’t see the Port-A-Potty! When it “weathers” it should blend right in with the woods. Mission accomplished. See picture number 3.

Now, look at picture number four. Strange looking things? These have been put together in the Shop. What do you think they are? Maybe it will help if I describe them. First, there is a sphere with 24 holes. Into each of these holes is glued a piece of ½”, schedule 40, PVC pipe, 32” long. Does that help any? No? Well, what if I tell you that onto two of these pieces will be glued a tee that is first stuck through a hole in a brick. Does that give you any clue. Well, maybe I have to tell you that after they do all this, they drop them in the lake.

“Sure“, you say, “now I know what it is. I just can‘t think of what you call it.” Well, what we call it is a fish attractor. Yep, that’s right. They place them in areas where most fishing occurs. They sink to the bottom, thanks to the weight of the bricks, and stay in place aided by all the pipes that fill with water. Over time, algae forms on the outside of the pipes and fish gather to feed. Thusly, fishermen have a better chance of finding something on the end of their hooks, and the slick pipes aid in keeping the hooks from snagging as they would on natural limbs.

The last picture shows two very special people. Now I don’t know there names. Although I stop often to talk with them I just haven‘t thought to ask there names. What they are doing walking the roads is collecting trash that has been carelessly discarded by park visitors. They do this five days a week, voluntarily. The road you see them on now runs from the entry of the Park to the beach, a distance of some mile and a half one way. The other road they cover goes from the entry to the campground, two miles one way.

They live across the road from the Park and up one tenth of a mile. They have been doing this for the Park for the past 13 years. They keep a record of their walking and have calculated that they have now walked some 4,800 miles picking up litter. Good for them! I’m sure it helps keep them young.

I have indicated often how much I like to read. You may also remember that I am something of a history buff. One of my favorite characters in our American history is Benjamin Franklin. There is a book you can find on the Internet, free to download, titled The True Benjamin Franklin, by Sydney George Fisher, published in 1898. A most interesting read. I also found three of the five volumes of his writings that can be downloaded.

As you may also know, Ben published a newspaper in Philadelphia called The Pennsylvania Gazette. I have included a couple excerpts here. I think you will find it interesting, as I did. Notice the spelling and abbreviated words. You will notice that it seemed to be the practice in 18th Century America to capitalize every noun in a sentence, not just proper nouns. They had a “funny” way of speaking, as you will note, but the humor is there. A trade-mark of old Ben. It appears also to be the trade-mark of “young” Ben. At the time of these writings, he was only 23 years old. He had only two years of formal “schooling,” when he was eight and nine years old. He later acquired five honorary Doctor Degrees. Ben wrote:

"One Piles a Fidler"
And sometime last Week, we are informed, that one Piles a Fidler, with his Wife, were overset in a Canoo near Newtown Creek. The good Man, 'tis said, prudently secur'd his Fiddle, and let his Wife go to the Bottom.

The Pennsylvania Gazette, October 16, 1729

A Gallant Duel and an Unhappy Man
Saturday last, about nine o'Clock in the Morning two young Hibernian Gentlemen met on Society Hill, and fought a gallant Duel before a Number of Spectators not very usual on such Occasions. The Cause of their Quarrel is it seems unknown; and as they were parted without much Difficulty, and neither of them received any considerable Hurt, it is generally looked upon to be only a Piece of Theatrical Representation.

The same Day an unhappy Man one Sturgis, upon some Difference with his Wife, determined to drown himself in the River; and she, (kind Wife) went with him, it seems, to see it faithfully performed, and accordingly stood by silent and unconcerned during the whole Transaction: He jump'd in near Carpenter's Wharff, but was timely taken out again, before what he came about was thoroughly effected, so that they were both obliged to return home as they came, and put up for that Time with the Disappointment.

The Pennsylvania Gazette, February 10, 1729/30

As I write, we are still in Georgia. Come Sunday morning, August 30th we will be heading back to Tennessee. Carolyn’s knee replacement is scheduled for September 9th. Debbie, our daughter, will be flying in from California after Carolyn’s surgery to help out for a week. That will be great. While in Tennessee, we will be at the same RV Park as before, Shady Acres in Lebanon, through October. We’ll let you know how it all turns out.

Heritage makes the person; Attitude makes the life.

Recouped

(NOTE: View a larger picture by clicking on the photo(s) above.)

While we were back in Tennessee last month for my back surgery, we discovered that we needed two new tires on the front of the truck. We had taken it to the Chevrolet dealer and discovered that the tires had worn because of the need for alignment. We didn’t have time for the alignment then, and the dealer didn’t have the tires in stock. They recommended that we go next door to Discount Tire and see what they had. We did, and a few days later bought the tires and returned to the dealer to have them aligned.

Some days later we noticed a bad shaking and vibration in the truck. We thought that something was out of balance. We went to another Discount Tire in another city in Tennessee and asked if they would look at the tires to see what was wrong. Although the four back tires were not their tires, they checked them as well. They told me that all six tires were out of balance, but the inside, back tire was flat from two nails and a screw. They repaired the tire that was flat and balanced all six tires. No charge for the service. So, when you need new tires, check out Discount Tire.

OK! Now that you have had the commercial, let’s get on with the show.

We left Tennessee on July 7th and made our way back to Fort Yargo State Park in Georgia where our tenure as hosts was interrupted by my little-ole surgery. The trip was uneventful but by the time we arrived at the Park it looked like rain. We had already encountered rain in northern Georgia, so we were in a hurry to get set up before the “bottom fell out.”

The clouds were getting darker as we approached our campsite in Picnic Area 2. As we began our approach up the rock road to out campsite we discovered that a vehicle was setting in front of our site blocking our entry. It is not a parking place, but someone had made it one and was nowhere to be seen. I stopped our rig, got out, and began looking around for the driver. I found a couple down by the lake taking pictures. I asked if they belonged to the vehicle parked in our way. They did. So I asked if they would mind moving it. He did, but not without remarking that he didn’t see a sign that said “No Parking.” He was not real happy at having to move.

By the time I got the rig in position to back into our camping slot, liquid was beginning to descend from the heavens. Gentle at first, then more forceful. In just a few minutes the “bottom” did its famous “falling out.” My mirrors fogged up so I could hardly see were I was backing. I had to get in and out of the truck to check my position often, while Carolyn was standing out in the pouring rain with lightening flashing about helping direct me. She finally said to me, “I’m not standing out here in this lightening. Let’s wait.” I, being stubborn, as I am at times, wanted to get the rig settled before it got so muddy that it would be difficult to get it in place. By the time we did get it in place we were both soaked.

Since we had been gone new hosts had arrived in the campground, so there were new people to meet and work with. Nothing much has changed to the work that needed to be done, but less money is available from the State for materials. So it became the same hunt and search for scrap material to build and repair with. As I told the Park Manager the other day, “We have worked for so long, with so little; we are now qualified to do anything with nothing.”

Carolyn is continuing to work in the Park Office and Trading Post as needed. I am still finding things to build and repair as well as teaching my Spanish class to Park personnel. The first picture above is the Nature Center used for nature presentations of flora and fauna. The second picture is a room in the Center where I hold class.

At least, since our return the night bird that kept us awake off-and-on is no longer sounding off. The Park has also gotten rid of a lot of ducks that made much noise and pooped everywhere. They thin the numbers every year. Now there are only the average types of birds hopping about. By the way, have you ever wondered how a bird finds a worm underground? Here's how: When a bird stands on the ground near a worm that is crawling underneath, it can feel the earth's vibrations with its very sensitive feet. It will also position its head to put into operation the low frequency apparatus of its ears. Then, when it zeroes in on the worm, it pierces the earth with a sudden stab of its beak, grabs the tasty morsel and gobbles it up, or takes it to it‘s young.

Speaking of animals, I guess you call birds animals, or do you? You know that a group of horses is a “herd” and a group of birds is a “flock,” but do you remember that a group of cows is a “kine?” A group of alligators is a “congregation,” a group of caterpillars is an “army,” a group of butterflies is a “flutter,” a group of crows is a “murder,” and a group of cockroaches is an “intrusion.” Boy, they sure got that last one right!

Summer is a very busy time in the State Park as I’m sure you can imagine. The third picture illustrates one of the more popular activities at the Park, fishing. No, I don’t know who the fisherman is.
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This weekend, being the start of a new month, we are changing hosts again. Two couples have left, two new ones are coming in. Last week we all got together (nine of us at the time) for a cookout at the campsite of one of the hosts. Everyone furnished something. We enjoyed both the food and the fellowship. Picture number four is of the couple hosting the cookout in the center, as well as others in the foreground. The last picture is of two of the hosts, Verna and Vivian with Carolyn in the middle.

Not much adventure to share this month. So I’ll wow you with words. Some of you may know that the first thing I read in news each day is the cartoons. To me, it is the only sane thing in the news. I have always enjoyed cartoons, having been an art major and cartoonist in high school. In this regard, have you wondered what those symbols that represent profanity in cartoon bubbles (#@$%!) are called? The word for it is “grawlix.” It was coined back in 1964 by Mort Walker the cartoonist of “Beetle Bailey” and “Hi and Lois.” Also, the word for the wiggly line representing shaking in drawings is called “agitrons.”

If you want to read about a real adventure, continue reading. The following is written by the son of a long-time friend. The son, the author, lives in Alaska. I guess it proves that more goes on in Alaska than politics. Enjoy!
Remember, Heritage makes the person; Attitude makes the life.

Rainy Day by Andre Martin

# I have bad weather-luck. Nearly every excursion I undertake is met with rain or snow blowing sideways. The following account will demonstrate thus. The setting- Fall time on the giant, rugged Chichagof Island at the north end of the Alexander Archipelago. The temperate rain forest panhandle of Alaska . The people- besides me, my Blackfoot Indian friend Jim. The hardest worker I have ever known. That’s saying a lot because this is a state full of loggers, miners, fisherman and oil workers. He had ten years on me and could out work me to death. He was also a professional drinker. Although, he never called in sick or came in late no matter how hung-over he was. He often stumbled into my bunkhouse room late at night to declare his brotherly love. He grew up bucking horses for a living in Montana. Or sent out into the Rockies for two weeks alone to round up stray cattle. His nose was bent one way and his jaw the other. A born scraper, would never back down from any fight. We worked together at the cold storage throwing fish at each other in the 40 below freezers.

After a few debacles taking cheechakos (white men new to the country) on bush-whacking hikes I stopped going with just anybody into the wild. But Jim could handle himself and teach me a thing or two. So we often left our warm women to explore treacherous country together. The fastest back-packing I have ever done is when he would run out of cigarettes and we would b-line back to town.

We had a good friend in Chris. A hard working, intelligent, cheerful guy in his late twenties. He was from Santa Cruz but had some experience hiking in the Sierras. He noticed Jim and I prepping for a trip and begged “take me, take me!” We said “ Do you know what happened to the last guy that came with us?” “We had to radio the Coast Guard to helicopter his butt to safety.” (true story) We agreed to let him come but after this one trip he never asked again.

We set off into the dark forest behind the amphibious, boardwalk fishing town of Pelican (pop. 300). Nestled halfway down the Lisiasnski Inlet. Don’t tell anyone but this is the most beautiful place in Alaska and probably the planet. Wet emerald mountains, waterfall draped cliffs descending directly into the dark depths. A cold, dark, and deep fjord 1 mile wide and 35 mile long filled with life. Kayaking I have seen starfish 6 feet across, 20 ft. long Lions Mane jellyfish, and schools of herring that take 3 days to pass. Watched in awe as Humpback Whales did full, out of the water, breaches. Counted 50 Bald Eagles in the sky at once. Paddled with lively Orcas, friendly, brown eyed Seals, cute as hell Sea Otters, and intimidating, Stellar Sea Lions.

We back-packed into the old growth. I hear tell of trail hikers doing 15+ miles a day. Let me tell you on this island you would be doing well to make 6 miles a day in the summer, half that in winter. No trails except those made by bear or deer. Massive Douglas fir and Sitka spruce shadow the quite, mossy valley floor. Underneath a tangled maze of blueberry bushes, willows, alders, and devils club . A prolific thorny plant that is as much fun as it sounds.

We followed Pelican creek valley into the island. The basin is only 5 miles long and 1 mile wide. Surrounded by 4,000 ft mountains rising like walls on three sides. After the fifth mile the creek makes a 90 degree turn and becomes an impassable ravine with 50 ft. waterfalls. Every stream on the island does this. As if to hide their sources as best they can. High alpine lakes with colors that would make emeralds and sapphires embarrassed.

The first day we hiked a few miles in. Staying in the big timber following deer trails as best we could. Crossed two small creeks without getting our feet wet. There’s a memorable tree about a mile from town I always liked to show newcomers. I stop next to a 4 ft wide trunk with a solid mass of sticky, sweet smelling sap covering all the bark. Usually gets an “ah-cool!” After they poke and gawk for a minute and are ready to proceed, I look them in the face and point upwards. Their eyes get quite large as they realize the source of all this sap. Row upon row of deep vertical gouges. The lowest of them higher than a tall man can reach. A Brown Bear sign post years in the making. This prehistoric forest is guarded with tooth and claw by giant, furry druids.

We camped that night next to a tree so large the first branch is 150 ft above and the trunk a 6 ft wide wall next to us. Pelican creek, crystal clear and cold about 20 ft across and 2 ft deep filled with fresh snow melt murmurs nearby. The weather was perfect that night. Clear, dark sky brimming with stars partially visible through the tree tops.

However, when we emerged from the tent in the morning it was raining, hard.
After eating some oats with blueberries we left the tent and packs to explore the perimeter for an hour or so. Instantly soaked to the bone Not just from fat rain drops but mainly from trying to dry the brush off with our bodies. Arriving back at camp to see the fire pit and sagging tent in the middle of a 15 ft wide puddle. Did not bother with making a fire. Attempting to make a fire in a rain forest during a down pore requires way to much effort and lots of white gas.

We sat next to the creek to decide what to do. We had originally wanted to bag a peak that day. The stratums was down to the tree tops, discouraging that option. That’s when we noticed the creek was now 3 feet deep and rising. Visibly swelling as we watched. So the decision was obvious to us now. This mission is scrubbed! Time to make a quick retreat, like the French fleeing Moscow.

It became the most intense hike of our lives. The return trip, which the day before took only a few hours, will take all day. Barely making it home by dark. Instead of meandering back and forth looking for deer trails, we take a compass heading and charge straight through all obstacles as best we can. On the topo map the valley looks flat, but the terrain is anything but. Stout brush and devils club that is sometimes completely impenetrable. Also, when a 300 ft. tall tree falls it creates an astounding mess of things. Not only is the trunk itself a sizable barrier but it brings down a half dozen of its neighbors with it. A tangled mass a city block wide and taller than a house. After 20 minutes of trying to scramble around one tends to become frustrated. Even Luis and Clark would have shouted “Holy Hell!” In the whole valley you can’t go more than ten feet without reevaluating your next move. Left, right, up, down, over, under, around, and the worst, backwards. So it’s a route finding challenge even on a good day.

Today though, something was happening we had never seen before. The relentless down pore and the roar of the creeks surrounded us with an enormity of sound. Hiking in a full bath tub with the shower on. As the hours passed the woods began to transform into a different place all together. The wide tree trunks became conduits of water. Half inch deep streams on all sides running down from the canopy. There’s only a few feet of topsoil over bedrock so the water was pooling fast. Every dip in the forest floor was now under 3 feet of water. The small valley was quickly filling up.

When we arrived at the first of two creek crossings we could not believe our eyes. Yesterday you could walk through it without it going over your ankles. Not even 10 ft wide. Behold, thundering white water 5 ft deep and spilling its banks into the forest, 30 yards wide. The booming sound of boulders rolling down stream. Floating logs and detritus adding to the velocity. So now the fun was very much over. Stranded, cut off, no way out. Hypothermia looming as the situation dawns on us. We are now devoted to survival.

Scouting up, then down stream for a way to cross. We found our only option. Climbing over a log jam. With boot laces tightened we tentatively step out onto dark, slippery logs. None of them more than 2 ft across. The sides of the creek have a screen of alders leaning at 45 degree angles out over the water. Branching main trunks the thickness of your arm and about 15 ft. tall. So not only are we stepping from log to log canted at odd angles over the water. We’re also bending this way and that slowly maneuvering ourselves and our heavy packs over, under, and around the alders. Watching out for each other with wild eyes and meaningful looks. Making sure not to get a pack snagged on the branches.

But at least they offered hand holds. As we emerged into the open over the torrent, we sat down. Wrapped legs around and squeezed with all our might. Now we unbuckled the packs and loosened straps so that if you did fall in you could shed that anchor as fast as possible. Serious vertigo because just below our feet was raging white water surging by. As we shuffled our way across, inch by inch, I stole a couple of glances down stream to look at the next log jam you would get sucked under. Better not think about it. Keep Moving. The longer you look at a scary task, the harder it becomes. More alders to snake through on the opposite bank. When we reached solid ground again it was hugs all around.

We had to repeat the endeavor at the next even larger creek ( river). When we got within a mile from town our pace quickened with renewed morale. However, there was to be one last obstacle. There’s a large muskeg meadow near the end. Scattered with 5-10 ft wide pools of dark water, mud holes and trench like streams. Now the whole place was under water over our knees. Side by side we sloshed on. One by one each of us would disappear from view as we fell into deep holes. Pulled harshly out by your partners and continue without a word.

Victoriously we climbed onto the boardwalk. Looked toward the bridge at the end of town. Pelican creeks raging whitewater was just below the bridge. Normally there’s ten feet of clearance. Not caring to look at any more water, with pale, grim faces, we squished our way home. Brief handshakes as we separated at each others cabins. Leaning in the open doorway, a pool forming at my feet, I stood panting in front of Lara.

The next day the storm increased in violence with gale winds. The Inlet turned mud brown (except for the whitecaps) from all the runoff. At Pelican creek the bank was calving off at an incredible rate. Swiftly eroding its way toward the school. 20 men down there with backhoe and sand bags trying to stop entropy. It rained 10 inches every 24 hours for 3 days straight. We were lucky to have escaped the flash flood when we did.

Completed: Body Repair 101

(NOTE: View a larger picture by clicking on the photo(s) above.)

As you remember from last month’s news, we were changing location. All the way back to Tennessee. But before we left, we had a nice dinner out at a local restaurant (Fatz) with the other Hosts at the Park. It so happened that all four of us hosting couples were leaving the Park the same weekend. A whole new batch of people were coming in, and as I understand, none of them had ever hosted before. Good luck to them.

The meal was nice and we enjoyed getting to know the other people better. We were all from different parts of the country. Somehow the conversation got around to who got up early and who started the day later. One host said he arose every morning at 5:04. That seemed like an odd and specific time to me, so I said, “Why 5:04 and not 5:00 or 5:05?”

He pulled out his Blackberry, or iPhone, or whatever it was, punched the face of it a couple times, then turned the screen around to face me. In the upper left hand corner was the reading “5:04.” “That is my alarm,” he says, “and I have never figured out how to change it.” I hope he doesn’t change phones and gets one set at 2:06. Talk about programmed!

We left Georgia on May 30, and arrived here at Shady Acres RV Park in Lebanon in the early afternoon. We found us a suitable place between the shade trees, paid our month in advance, and pulled in. A picture of our site is above. We found our neighbors on either side of us to be here for an extended time as well. Both were fellows by themselves. One is from Michigan and here with a new job before bringing his family down. The other is from Alabama and is an Insurance Adjustor working the area with people who have had tornado damage. He has been here since February and doesn’t know how much longer he will be here. The Park seems to have a lot of people here for extended periods.

We are here in Tennessee for medical reasons, so that is what is taking up our time. The Monday after we arrived I had an appointment with a second Neurologist to have an EMG (Electromyography) which involves testing the electrical activity of the muscles. The Surgeon needed to know the extent of damage to the muscles in my right leg which has suffered atrophy because of the years of abuse by pinched nerves. We needed to see if the damage is permanent or will heal in time. That done, the surgery was scheduled for June 19th.

While I was waiting for the surgery to happen, we checked on other medical things for both me and Carolyn. I got a hearing aid repaired and tested and fitted for new ones of a different type. Carolyn went to see an Orthopedic Surgeon about her right knee which has been giving here trouble for years. The medical opinion is that she needs a new right knee. So, after I am well from my back surgery she is going to get a knee replacement. The projected date for this is in September.

June 19th arrived and it was time for my surgery. We were to be at the hospital at 5:30 A.M., the surgery scheduled for 7:00 A.M. You know the routine, answer a thousand questions, sign this, sign that, have blood tests, EKG, chest x-ray, and insert an IV. I was put in a room and told to change into that famous “backless” hospital gown. I was wheeled into the preparation/recovery area, asked more questions, signed more things. When the time came to go to the OR, I saw a nurse inject into my IV and we began wheeling through the hallway. I never saw the OR, the doctors, or anything else until I woke up back where I started in the preparation/recovery room. The time elapsed, about thirty minutes.

The surgery seemed like a non-event to me, but here is what happened. I had repairs done to two discs. It took about ten minutes per discs. A spacer, called an X-Stop, was placed between Lumbar discs 3-4 and 4-5. You see a picture of one, taken from a brochure, in photo number two above. The third photo shows where the spacers are placed. They are put between the spinous process, which is the bone protruding from the discs which forms what we generally know as the backbone. The only part of the spine that we can feel from the outside. These spacers spread the spine apart to allow freedom for the nerves going through the area.

The incision I have is only about one and one-half inches long. There are no stitches to be removed. As a matter of fact, there are no stitches at all. I was simply glued back together with Dermabond. The incision is held together, by hand or instrument, and an applicator, much like a glue stick, is passed over the area. They wait about 20 seconds and make another pass. That’s it. All done.

At 11:30 that morning, I was on my way back to the RV Park with a little soreness and a bottle of Percocet for pain. The recovery process is to rest a little, walk a little, and repeat each day. I return to the doctor two weeks after surgery, that is July 2nd. If every thing looks right and I feel right, I will be good to go after that. Then, we will head back to Georgia after the 4th.

We are ready to get back to some activity. About all we have done here, outside running around for medical reasons, is read. That’s not a bad thing. But enough is enough. I am now on my eleventh book since arriving. Carolyn has read seven or eight.

I have used words above that you may not have known. There appears to be a name for everything. Sometimes we just don’t know what that name is. Have you ever wondered what the little vertical indentation in your upper lip just below your nose is called? No? Well, anyway it is called a “philtrum.” And how about caterpillar poop? That’s the little wooly worm I’m talking about, not the farm machine. You haven’t heard of it? Now, that is called “frass.” Actually, the debris or excrement of any insect is called “frass.”

You never know in what strange places you may learn something. Now go wow your friends with this great knowledge. I’ll bet they don’t know what they are called. More fun stuff next time.

Change of Plans

(NOTE: View a larger picture by clicking on the photo(s) above.)

Living in a Park is full of events and mysteries. The first week this month in the Park was another bike race. Not a triathlon this time, but an endurance race. There are some 13 miles of bike trails throughout the Park, many as narrow as two feet across. The first group raced through the woods for six hours. Around and around. That seems difficult enough to me, but the second group, well, they endured for twelve hours. From ten o’clock in the morning until 10 o’clock at night. Now bear in mind, both groups are going at the same time, on the same trails, one group just ends at four o’clock. I cannot imagine racing through the woods in the dark with only a small light on ones head. But, that is just me. Or should that be “just I.” Sounds kind of weird. Let’s just stick with “me.”

The Park is used by many groups and organizations. One Saturday, a couple of weeks ago, a Private School group of 5th graders came to the Park for an outing. The group of kids were 120 strong. They had various activities planed, miniature-golf, playground, hiking and other activities such as fishing. I was drafted, along with other hosts, to help the kids with fishing.

Now, I am not a fisherman. I find the whole activity boring. But I have fished in my time, albeit not very well Fortunately for us hosts, the group divided up into twenties for the fishing action. So, here comes 20 nine and ten year olds, eager to get a line in the water, being held back by a teacher, until we gave the word to let the stampede begin. We had some 20 plus rods and reels complete with hook for them to use. And, we had worms. Some of the kids knew how to get a worm on the hook, some didn’t, and didn’t want to know. That was our job to bait the hook. We found each a spot on the boat dock for fishing. Helped them get a line in the water without hooking their classmate, and generally helped them in the process. One would fish for 30 to 45 minutes and then the next group would arrive, until everyone had a chance to try their luck.

The first picture above is of some of the group and two of the other hosts on the dock. I must say that all the young ones were well mannered and well behaved. The second picture is of the young lady that caught the first fish, a brim. They didn’t keep the fish. We let them go. I was the one who had to get the hook out of the fish’s mouth and let it go, but not before I had her pose with her trophy. She also caught a second fish during her time with the pole.

I have to tell you a story. One of the young girls approached Don, one of the other hosts, the one facing forward in the first picture, carrying her pole, and said in a low voice, what he understood as, “I have to tinkle.”

Don didn’t know what to do about that and told her, “You will have to see your teacher, and she will take you to the bathroom.”

The young girl shook her head and said, “No, I have a tangle.” So much for young voices and old ears. We separated many tangled lines that day.

So much for events. Now, the mystery. Numerous times we have been awakened in the night by a loud “squawk.” To be honest, it was Carolyn who was awakened. I don’t hear anything much with my hearing aids out. I did hear it during the day, but we could neither identify the sound or see what was making it. It was both a puzzle and an annoyance. The sound was similar to a duck, but different, and it was not a crow.

I asked the rangers about the sound and imitated it as best I could. They thought it might be a blue heron. They make a similar sound and nest in trees. There are blue herons here. I researched blue heron sounds on the Internet and found what sounded like what we were hearing. It was a Night Heron. A picture of a Black-crowned Night Heron is above. But the Rangers had never seen one. Whatever it is, it’s still squawking, but we haven’t figured it our as yet. Don’t you just hate it when you can’t figure things out?

Lots of interesting things and excitement happens in the park. On one Wednesday morning an eighteen year old young man borrowed his mother’s Chevrolet Suburban, without her knowledge, and along with a sixteen year old friend, drove into the Park when they should have been in school. The young man drove off a Park road and crashed the car into a tree. He says he was trying to miss an animal. A huh! He had some explaining to do.

That very same Wednesday, in the afternoon. A gentleman had borrowed his wife’s red 2007 Ford Expedition. He came into the Park to take photos of wild life for a photo contest going on in the Park. He was out at the boat ramp when he spotted a deer. He grabbed his camera and stepped out of the car to get a picture. He forgot to put the car in park. The car rolled down the boat ramp into the lake and disappeared completely. The last two pictures above capture part of the ordeal. You see a diver beside the pontoon boat with a buoy indicating where the car is. About 100 feet out into the lake. The last picture shows the car being pulled from the lake. Can’t you just hear him when he gets home, “Honey, I drowned the car.“ Too much excitement for one day.

I guess I need to explain what I mean by “Change of Plans.” We had planned to be here in the Park at Winder through August. Our plans are being interrupted by a trip back to Tennessee so I can have back surgery. Many of you know that I have had back trouble for years. It is time to have it fixed. Way past time according to my doctor. I have a condition know as Spinal Stenosis. For you who may not know, it is the narrowing of the spinal column by bone growth on the inside of the canal, pressing on the nerves. As a comparison of my condition with what is normal. Think of the normal opening as the hole in a large donut. My opening is about the size of the hole in a Cheerio.

The good news is that I am a good candidate for minimally invasive surgery. Meaning, the cut will be smaller and the recovery quicker. Hopefully, I am looking at two to four weeks of recovery instead of six to eight. We hope to be back in Georgia in early July to continue our life style of “Parking.”

The Parks in Georgia, as well as many other places, are having a tough time due to the economy. Many cutbacks and layoffs are occurring. Volunteers are needed more than ever. Sometimes it is hard to put in perspective the monetary situation in our world today. Billions and Trillions are being spent. Can you even imagine a trillion dollars. Think of a dollar as a second of time. A million seconds is 11.5 days. A billion seconds is 32 years. A trillion seconds is 32,000 years. Mind boggling isn’t it!

Until next time when we will boggle you some more. While we are back in Tennessee, we will be at the Shady Acres RV Park in Lebanon.