Trail Boss

Donk on the Grayton Beach state park trail (Florida 3/10)

all the little things

It's already April and I haven't blogged very much since my birthday. Since we left the frigid heath of Illinois, our toes have thawed almost completely as well as the water lines on the camper.

We're still trying our best to sell the RV, which is a challenge in itself. I think our last resort will be eBay, where we will most likely lose our ass. Sometimes you've gotta do what you've gotta do.

Since our departure south, I finally talked my old man into a Florida trip. We visited the gulf one sunny Saturday afternoon on my birthday weekend. We visited Grayton Beach state park and then drove through Panama City. Of course we hit spring break in full force, so after a relaxing hike we headed north again for Alabama. We've enjoyed lots of local activities here including a friday night horse auction which rivaled even the best of vintage Saturday Night Live skits. We stopped by the Pike County Cattlemens Association's first annual ranch rodeo where we found wholesome entertainment in the bizarre form of "wild cow milking". Heith decided to trick the truck a few more turns by adding front and rear Ranch Hand bumpers (much to my own dismay). We visited Patsy the weekend of my birthday as well, and had a nice dinner in Greenville with the parental unit. Most of our free time we spend way down yonder on the Chattahoochee. Dolly loves to swim at the dam and scout for squirrels. Our campground is within biking distance of the local post office which makes for excellent stretch mark erasing.

My boxwood bonsai tree is enjoying the warm temperatures. We should hit 90 degrees today, with a gentle gulf breeze. All the pleasant weather has helped me finish two books in the last three weeks. I'm delving through the Lord of the Rings trilogy right now. All is not lost on the recycle front as I sold 30 ornaments last month and had one order this first week of April. I'm hoping to join the Spartanburg Junior League Santa Shoppe this year with a trove of light bulb treasures.

Yates & the Gate

Everybody knows, well okay my friends and family know that I've staked claim for any future offspring to be named after my favorite great Uncle. Yates hitchhiked to California from Enoree as a fourteen year old. Well, he most likely rode at least half the journey with his cousins; however, I like to pretend it would be much more romantic to hitch hike in the late 1920's.


The end of the line was Sausalito, California. Uncle Yates got a job on the new construction of the Golden Gate Bridge connecting the San Francisco bay. We've determined that he was probably our earliest relative to ever be union (and proud) as he was an iron worker on the bridge. This photo shows Uncle Yates posing next to the cable connectors in 1936. I think one of the most ironic things about him is that his name literally means "gates"...so it seems inevitable that he'd end up constructing one of the biggest gateways in the country. Weird useless fact.

When my great Aunt Martha passed away, I knew she kept most of Yates' personal things and his photo collection. I wanted so much to see if he had any mementos of his life in California. I only dreamed I'd find a photo as spectacular as this. We have a special kinship with Uncle Yates, as he was also our only family member to be a full-time RVer. He lived most of his adult life in his camper (that he pulled with his gargantuan Cadillacs). He traveled extensively through Europe, getting married in Athens, Greece and shared a special love for the beautiful American southwest. He was a cool cat with a great sense of style,wearing his Converse sneakers even in his golden years. The last time I visited with Uncle Yates, he was staying in Laurens Memorial Home. MaMa took us to visit often and we always looked forward to seeing him. Hopefully my little homage to him will help us all remember what a interesting and unique person he was...and if there's ever a little Yates, we'll hope he decides not to hitch hike to California until he's twenty-one.

Snow Husbandry

Leaving Illinois for the weekend in order to escape the frigid temperatures, brutal winds, and drifts of snow turned out to be a huge mistake.
After the grueling drive home (with an inconvenient detour through North Carolina) we finally saw South Carolina soil, topped with white icing.
It's now a proven fact that wherever we go we carry our extreme weather karma along with us. Remember that heavy snow in Joshua Tree National Park two winters ago? We can take credit for that one. The biggest snow in thirty years...the day we drove into town.

So I spent a quiet, snowy Valentines weekend with MaMa, Mom, Patsy and the "kids"...and waiting for me on the Illinois line when I got home? Snow.

the first day

Today is the first day of February and the first day of the rest of my life in Illinois. I've been a bit slack on the blog front due to the fact that getting out of bed each day is now such a chore that I have no desire to do anything else. There's absolutely nothing going on, and Heith and I are almost to whatever wit's end that may be left. If we don't leave soon, I'm not so sure if anyone will EVER hear from either one of us again. The cornfields will swallow us whole.
Thanks to everyone who still tunes in anyway...I will do my best to stay on the radar this month with anything that may be worth blogging, such as walking to the cemetery across the road.

Retail Therapy

Last weekend we opted for a little retail therapy west of the Mississippi. We took off Friday morning for a weekend in Oklahoma City to catch a little IPRA rodeo action and a well deserved shopping spree.
I won't rehash my disdain for ILL-inois, but to add to the endless amount of nothingness in this state, there is no decent shopping within 500 miles of our nearest cornfield.
Thank goodness for Whataburger, Candlewood, and Langstons.
We spent some time visiting some shop owners down in Stockyards city--stop by Suzanne Hill's "Stemwinder Hats" and get the full story on making George Bush & Charlie Daniels personal cowboy hats. We skipped Cattlemen's this year due to new owners and an entire city complaining of diarrhea, and instead discovered the local dive known as the Chuckhouse over on 10th.
Saturday night we headed for the fairgrounds to catch some rodeo action, and were happy to cheer on some fellow Carolinians; Joe Cook in steer wrestling, the Treadway stock, and Alan Moorehead announcing (which I can personally thank for a heinous migraine)! Combining my zoom lens and our excellent chute gate seats, I spotted this familiar face near the holding pens.

Hooray for Herbert hay! Those bucking bulls and horses are proudly fed by Herb hay--thanks Ken.

Having our fill of snobby horse / rodeo / country music / John Deere / camouflage /and Nascar enthusiasts, we packed the truck for the ride back to ILLinois. This time we avoided the toll turnpike and drove along the old Oklahoma route 66.
The sun never came out, and counting today I haven't seen the sun in almost three weeks. I realize that thanks to Twilight the vampire look may be "in", but it's getting a little ridiculous.
That's it in the vacation department for us, at least for a while.

Split End of the Year

I've been staring at this white screen through a tangled mass of hair for the last fifteen minutes. This seems to be a recurring habit of mine, picking my split ends by the computer screen light. I think I do this while I'm pondering titles and I usually can't come up with one until I've finished an entire post.

I hate writing the same old shit. The same old shit everyone else writes "Oh, where has the year gone? Time flies by so fast...blah blah blah". We know this. I'm reminded every day as I pass my wedding portrait in the hall (okay, so it's not a hall it's a ledge). So time flies by too frickin fast. Okay.

Enough about my weirdness. Where did 2009 take me, my old man and my dog?

Our New Year celebration began with our old friends in Georgia, who we regret we won't see for this coming year's soiree. We were so happy to be able to finally spend a New Year's with people. Real people and noisemakers and hats and hors d'oeuvres. It was my first real New Year's party and I'll never forget it!
We spent January through August parked on Saint Helena Island in South Carolina. This of course accumulated many rodents, creatures, and cobwebs that I was very happy to be rid of by the time we hooked up again. Shaking off the sand, our coach headed north to Virginia where we stopped off for a couple of months before our journey to New England and my favorite stop of the year, Connecticut. I fell in love with this state and the entire area, and I didn't think I could love anywhere as much as I do Saint Helena. I find myself homesick for hardwood forests, owls, and acorns quite often.
We left Connecticut in early November and drove to Kentucky for one week, there we packed once more for our final destination of the year...Illinois. Yes, I dreaded even typing the name. However, this "end" of the state seems to be somewhat milder (in climate and attitude) than Chicago. We're on the outskirts of St. Louis in a big cornfield beside a dairy. The wind blows, it rains. The wind blows, it rains. And I dream of a house, a big warm brick house with shutters and a fire place. A big leather sofa and a blanket...warm socks and--sorry, where was I?

I'm daydreaming again, but that's bound to happen when you live in a "Day Dreamer" which is still for sale by the way.

This year opened some new doors for me. I'm so thankful for my extremely teeny tiny success on etsy and all the Christmas trees across America that proudly displayed my handiwork. I hope that 2010 brings more business and some new ventures, as I'm sure it will.

If our Lord feels we are deserving in this new year, I hope to be typing to you next December from a cozy den beside a crackling fire inside four brick walls...with no wheels underneath.

Happy New Year to you all!

The Good Park

Our tiny feast was a complete success this past Thursday. Everything turned out delicious--our baked turkey, crock pot macaroni and cheese, green beans, rolls, and of course my very first pound cake with cranberry citrus syrup.
That morning we woke to the sounds of a gusty wind blowing against our slide-out toppers*...so we knew we were in for a frigid day. This led to the purchase of several large sheets of reflective R-Max foam board insulation which we attached to the bottom of our camper.


So, where do we live? What does it look like? In what part of Illinois are we? Well, a photo essay of the campground should answer most of those questions. Our "campground" is a makeshift lot of over 200 sites that the Illinois Department of Natural Resources built in order to rake in more money during the construction of the Prairie State Energy Campus (where the old man is currently working). It does have it's perks--lots of paved walking and bicycle trails...in the middle of nowhere with absolutely zero traffic. Needless to say, I enjoy leaving Dolly off the leash to let her wander around on her own. The downfall is the fact that the sites are built on an abandoned mine with no wind breaks and in the middle of a high plain. No trees, no hills, no nothing. In addition to coyotes prowling mid-day, the constant blast of shotguns, pistols and rifles can be heard as we share our park with the World Shooting & Recreation Complex.


*slide out toppers: awnings covering the slide out portion of an RV or motorhome.

Down the Ohio

I didn't really want to leave Connecticut. Our next assigment was a toss up between Nebraska, Canada, Belgium, Wisconsin or...Illinois. What did we choose? Illinois. Illi-freakin-nois.
Why? Why do we keep coming back to this state? Not that there's anything wrong with it, we just always choose to visit during the winter season. Most of my audience is Southern, that means they can't really relate to the bone chilling cold that comes along with living near Lake Michigan. Wait!!! My sister-in-law--SHE would understand (I finally know someone who understands NORTHERN midwest cold)!

The good news is we're not going back to Chicago. This time we'll be stationed near St. Louis, which hopefully won't be as bad as the northern part of the state. Keep the toes crossed just in case.
For the moment we're camped across from the mighty Ohio river (again). We're nestled in the Kentucky hill country. Our drive down from Connecticut was quick and painless. We drove through West Pennsyltucky and the beautiful Appalachians for the majority of the trip. It reminded me of the little town we lived in West Virginia. Chester, which sat right on the Ohio as well. We're pretty familiar with this river now, seeing as it hosts many different power houses up and down it's banks. Plumes of white smoke cloud around the smokestacks down river from our campground...boiler after boiler, nuke after nuke. The Ohio is a pretty popular place for power.

Well, I guess most rivers in America look the same way. It's sad...the last time Heith and I floated the river in our town we passed a large pipe buried underground that spilled out into the river. Green slime and soap scum dripped into the water, creating suds and film on the surface. (The local chemical company takes those honors.) My old neighbor who passed on a few years ago, used to rant and rave about the pipe and the pollution it created. One day our little town may play host to another Erin Brockovich story.
Oh well...just don't eat the fish.

"put your soul in the water...join me for a swim tonight" -- live

Off day

The job's over, so we opted for a day off at Devil's Hopyard State Park here in Connecticut. We caught a few shots of Chapman Falls and some of the last changing leaves. The only colors left are burnt orange and deep red. The weather seems to be holding out for us, which is odd. Anyone who knows about our travels remembers that we carry an incurable hex for weather weirdness. If the snow holds out, we hope to venture north to Salem for a stop at the gallows of the Salem Witch trials and of course, the Salem Witch Museum!

On the Hudson

Sunnyside - Home of Washington Irving

Our latest junket led us to the village of Tarrytown and Sleepy Hollow, New York. I wanted to visit my Great Grandmother's last dwellings. So much has changed since my last trip in 1995. The downtown has developed into a quaint shopping and dining experience with dozens of antique shops littering the sidewalks. As I drove down to the Hudson river, I noticed a sign for Franklin Courts. It was literally a lightbulb moment, I remembered the name as if I had just written it down yesterday on a Christmas card mailed to my Great Grandmother. I just happened to pass her old apartment complex as we strolled the winding streets of Tarrytown. All of my memories from my eighth-grade trip came back in a flash...visiting the gates of the old Sing Sing prison, the Sleepy Hollow cemetery, the park down by the Hudson, the corner deli, the train trip up from the city, Uncle Stubby taking us to see the bridge of the headless horseman, and my first visit to Sunnyside. My favorite venue (excluding FAO Schwartz) since I was a big fan of Ichabod Crane & Rip Van Winkle.

I had such a fun time at Sunnyside, I decided to take the tour as well. I visited the grounds and enjoyed a perfectly lovely day in the abnormally warm October sunshine. Being all grown up, I paid more attention to my friendly tour guide where I learned that Irving almost hooked up with Mary Shelley! They would've made such a fabulous couple.

The drive home wasn't so pleasant as I faced New York City commuter traffic. It was my own stupidity, dilly-dallying around until the early afternoon on a weekday...thirty minutes outside the city. So needless to say the I-95 trip tacked on an extra hour of sitting still in places like New Haven and Stamford. Finally, with stomach grumbling I found my way to a little seafood house near Niantic. I was ecstatic to try my very first fresh lobster, and there's no better place in southeastern Connecticut than Flander's Fish Market & Restaurant.
The lobster bisque was truly divine and the lobster...heavenly. I'm thankful that I waited to try this until I came to New England!
I'll certainly be back to visit Flanders...New York, I'm not so sure. Our next trip will certainly be by Long Island ferry and train, the Hee-Haw diesel is not cut out for swarming traffic and itty bitty village streets.

The Myth of New England

Somewhere along Route 12

Norwich State Hospital, Preston, CT.
Large, ominous and looming over the Thames River is the abandoned property and grounds of the old Norwich State Asylum for the Insane. Over 900 sprawling acres (including a power house) and a vast set of tunnels connecting almost every building on the property. Besides the fact that the place is literally crawling with cops and security (complete with alleged "booby traps"), it's eerie and alluring structures continue to entice thrill-seekers, photographers, and the occasional vandals and squatters. The hospital was opened in the early 1900's and closed it's doors in October of 1996. Some of Connecticut's most violent, criminally insane convicts were residents through the years at this infamous mental institution. They were housed in the prison ward of the now derelict Salmon Building. The auditorium seems to be a pretty popular spot among curious visitors as well. I guess most of the audience is wondering "WHY on Earth are you interested in seeing an abandoned mental hospital?" Well, the answer isn't simple. It's the Alice concept...curiosity kills it all. The fact that this place literally closed it's doors and the staff walked out, never to turn around again is simply astounding to me. The state of Connecticut and the town of Preston have left this place to ruin. The enormous cost of environmental clean-up scares away most investment ventures (the amount of asbestos and lead paint is staggering I'm sure). Mattresses, files, prescription bottles, patient artwork, hydrotherapy tubs, electroconvulsive therapy and lobotomy instruments are left behind. It seems as if the last one to leave, simply turned off the lights and locked the door. Everything is still inside. That's what makes it so interesting (to me).


My first trip saw countless state troopers and security SUV's swarming the grounds. So we decided to forgo the idea of a trek through the woods (as suggested by locals) from the railroad tracks, since the old man needs employment...and I figured a felony trespassing prosecution wouldn't sit well with the Nuclear Regulatory Commission. In the end, our dreams of being land owners one day outweighed the glorious thrill of treading on forbidden ground. This venture could have very well been the capstone to our trespassing career. But, I digress. Looking through the pictorials, I feel almost as if I'm visiting a sort of Titanic shipwreck...on land.
I can't really explain the magnitude of the place...my writing is mediocre at best. Photos will have to suffice. I've dug up the best I could find on the net, please visit the links if you wish to step inside the walls of this grandeur in architectural deterioration.

Coastal, no?

I finally saw the original Mystic Pizza this week. The town itself was small, crowded, and oozing with tourists. I decided against a slice of heaven due to the enormous line of beer guts waiting to get a table. We drove down to the seaport, and rummaged through the seaside markets for the best fresh lobsters.
We found some dread-headed locals for the scoop on the abandoned hospital trek...who advised another asylum with much easier access near Waterford. There's certainly no need to lose nuclear clearance over an ill planned trespassing trip. The leaves are still changing here, and the air is cool and crisp on our morning hike to the lake. The faint sounds of "ch-ch-ch-ch-ha-ha-ha-ha" can be heard as we walk through the forest near dusk, but then I remember it's probably just background music for one of the most beautiful places we've visited so far. (Sorry Yellowstone!)Later, I finally found where the music was coming from.

Hell's Hollow

Before we found a place called Connecticut, we found a place called Hell. For three days we sat in McGeorge's Rolling Hills RV Supercenter parking lot, waiting for a brake actuator in order to drag the beast to New England.
We had power but a limited amount of water, so after the first day we were forced to conduct whore baths in the kitchen sink. Dealing with the sleaze and slime of service consultants and parts people just added to the layers of gunk we couldn't clean off of ourselves.
Finally our part arrived and with swamp ass and a massive migraine we pulled out of McGeorge's and hit 95.
Washington was a mess, as always...but we made it safely thanks to the old man's deft trucking skills. We slept overnight in a truck stop outside Danbury. I was adamant about sleeping fully clothed on top of all blankets in order to avoid contaminating bedclothes with our putrescent funk.
I did manage a smile the next morning when we saw the beautiful fall colors along the turnpike.
Fortunately we found a thing called a shower and I am happy to report that I am now somewhat "clean".

Our surroundings are charged with occult influences and there are endless possibilities for a day trip into devilry.
We've scoured the right route into the abandoned Norwich State Hospital for the Insane...the expedition includes black tactical gear and night vision goggles in order to delude the security guards and state police.
Pictures soon...

Virginia is for Haters

Before the old man made the trip to Chicago today, we spent the week exploring our Virginny surroundings. We found a great spot for a day hike on the Appalachian Trail in the George Washington National Forest.
The Three Ridges circuit of the trail led us across a swinging bridge over Harper's Creek. Venturing onto the Mau-Har trail, we found several small waterfalls to take a break and let Dolly swim around. We passed three hikers on their way to the Priest Wilderness area, stopping briefly to give the Donk a well deserved pat.
She persevered with her Kelty Chuckwagon, carrying her own water bowl and snacks. Needless to say, she snoozed like a babe all the way home.
Besides a game of mid-week mini-golf, some margaritas with our Richmond comrades, and a visit to the drag strip, we laid low and enjoyed what was left of a small vacation.

Dolly and I guard the fort for one week before his return, and in the meantime we're transforming Hee-Haw into something a little more sinister...in layman's terms, we're tricking the truck. It behooves me to announce that in the event of this transformation, Hee-Haw will now be known as "Lil Hee".

Skid Marks

The safari begins tomorrow when we attempt to rip the roots off the bottom of the camper. If everything still works as it should, the rig will be rolling north for a stop in Virginia. The beast is still for sale so please direct all gypsies and/or carnies that may be in the market for a new mobile abode our way.
I'm surprised at how anxious I am to move on. Granted, it's not as strong as my urgent need to vacate the desert, but I still feel a slight tug at my heartstrings as we leave behind the Spanish moss and moonlight. Cooler pastures await, much cooler than last year's winter in Arizona.

P.S. Many many thanks to my blog neighbor Sister Wolf for my shiny new blogger badge!

Last of the Shut-Ins

It begins with the blood-curdling squeal. I usually run as fast as I can with my head down (I have no idea why) as I shake my hair violently, stamping my feet and flailing my arms. Once I'm in a "safe zone" I can stop and begin my frenzied inspection of my clothes, my back, my arms, my hair, and my legs. When I realize that there's nothing on me, I run the entire scene through my mind. The first encounter with the arachnid...the first moment I realize that I almost touched it. Although it was dead, it was colossal. I picture the beast over and over in my mind, the brown and yellow hairy legs and the massive thorax. I begin to cringe all over again, and I brush myself off once more. My heart hammers inside my chest and the panic starts to rise in my throat. I go through a round of heavy breathing and moaning. The entire time I practice this phobic seizure, I attract the attention of most of my campground neighbors. I'm sure most people can imagine how insane this probably looks, but to me it's all normal. My complete normal reaction to what most of the world considers a "spider".

I guess somebody is wondering where I saw this predatory monstrosity...in the underbelly of my camper. I also understand that when I saw it, it was dead. Dead, alive, squashed, smashed, crawling, or flattened...they're all the same.
So, I was out of service the rest of the afternoon, and as soon as I mentioned the fact that I'd rather meet up with a snake. Well, let's just say that the snakes heard me and decided they'd show up too.
As the old man greased up the fittings, he encountered a small Copperhead hiding beneath the tires. The blood is still fresh outside where he did most of the chopping. Without getting bit, we beheaded the snake and threw his remains on the patio of the next campsite over. More on those precious campers later.

I've learned a valuable lesson, never EVER set up camp for longer than one week unless you're prepared to deal with a large, crawling infestation of bugs. BIG bugs. But everything is bigger at the beach-- roaches, snakes, mosquitoes, flies, gnats, ants, and...dare I say it, spiders.

If the ring fits.

I've been on hiatus. I was alone for the entire month of June, with the exception of a weekend with Mom and MaMa here at the beach. Dolly and I are now candidates for advanced skin cancer from the amount of sunbathing we've done in the last three months.
The old man flew in for a couple of weeks over July 4th. We enjoyed all of the tri-county fireworks from Hilton Head up to Parris Island with the rest of the locals down at the fort on Land's End.
After he left, we fell into a routine of dragging our camelbak and lounge chair to the same tree everyday at the park. That's when a certain someone started to notice we weren't here on vacation. We saw the same guy everyday for a week--as he began to park himself closer and closer to our set-up. I'm not 17 anymore, well 15 for that matter, so looking for a beach boyfriend / summer romance is not on my mind. Despite the fact that I look like a leathered Grandmother, this guy still thought he had a chance. Finally he got the courage to spark a conversation (what was his ice breaker? Dolly, of course.) When I mentioned my husband, his face fell in disappointment and defeat. After retreating to his own towel down the beach, I felt certain we'd never see him again.
Wrong.
Several weeks later, after a short trip to see Beth and MaMa, we headed back to the park for some sun.
Above my Ray-Bans, I spotted a familiar physique walking toward our set-up. I reassured myself that it wasn't him, and went back to reading my So What! magazine.
I was wrong...it was the same guy. We waited for him to pass and packed our things to head to the truck. I thought, maybe he's just back for vacation again. No worries, we'll wait a few days and he'll be gone again.
We wait, watch a few Netflix, and try a park day one more time. Suddenly our relaxing day with Paul Simon on the ipod is over when my radar spots him yet again.
He's well on his way, straight to our digs. We do our best to stay calm and pretend we didn't see him--I pack up and head home again.
Now, the old man thinks all of this is funny--that some old, fat, married Roseanne-type woman like myself could possibly spark the interest of some young,buff, buck strolling the beach in hopes of some NSA fling. I scoffed and told him that maybe, just maybe...I've still got it. Well..I've got something, even if it's just being someone's missed connection.

Soggy Bottom

It's rained non-stop on the island for the last two weeks. Thankfully I chose to skip town and visit Richmond where they've heard of sunny skies. I just hope the mobile unit is afloat when I return. Last month, the old man came home for a total of four whole days--I endured. Thanks to the Barnes, I maintained sanity and visited Georgia for Stefan's birthday and the chalet during Ilsa's first interstate trip to the upstate.
This month, the old man was able to snag a couple more days at home than he did last month. I think I counted six days this time. While Rach was here, the weather started to turn sour on our last day. Determined to enjoy a morning on the beach, we successfully created a complete Robinson Crusoe shanty that would make even the swarthiest scallywag proud.

Hopefully I'll be home after the eternal black cloud passes over the island. Donk and myself look forward to seeing the sun again--and a day of lounge chairs and fuzzy navels minus the construction of one pretty slick tiki-hut.