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Ahh…. Maine in the Summer…..

          Warm days…

          Cool nights…

          Gorgeous lakes…

          Incredible shorelines….

          (Mosquitos!)…..

          And of course……

          Bah Haba and Lobsta!

          Or, if you are not from around these here parts where, “Ya can’t theah from heah”, you would pronounce it, ‘Bar Harbor’ and ‘Lobster’.    And to be fair, there are places in Maine (it would seem) that ‘you can’t get there from here’ because there is only one major road in Maine and that’s Interstate 95 and its cousins. After that, there are 14 billion side roads, none of which are straight.                                                               But that just adds to the adventure!

          Our campsite for this leg of the “Great Northeastern Road Expedition” was The Birches Campground on Cobbosseecontee Lake.

          Yes, that is correct. I’m not even going to tell you all the rest of the lakes and rivers names. By comparison, this one was easy to pronounce.

          Our site here was apparently something special, and in fact, was.

          My first hint should have been when I made the reservation several months ago. The lady on the other end of the line that helped me, said,

          “Oh my, R-20 appears to be available!”

          “Is that good?” I asked.

          “Yes it is! It is one of our most requested sites.”

          “Well, alrighty then! Let’s book it! Is it any more expensive than the other comparable sites?”

          “Nope, all the same.”

          The second hint came when we checked in at the Guardhouse when we arrived. We pulled up to the gate and the nice young lady opened her window and welcomed us. I gave her my name and when she looked at her check-in sheet and then back up at me, there was a chorus of angelic voices that came out of nowhere, accompanied by a heavenly beam of sunshine that fell upon her starry-faced countenance as she proclaimed, “You’re in R-20!!!”

          “Uhh, yea, so I’ve been told. Well thank-you,” I replied as she handed me the map of the Campgrounds with our site indicated on it.

          “Please proceed to the office in the store, they’ll complete your check-in.”

          Another nod of affirmation from me and we were on our way to the office.

          We pulled up in front and I went to the counter. The lady behind it said, “You must be Don Hall”. I said something that I thought was funny, like, “You must have a crystal ball” or something like that.

          She smiled and replied, “No sir, just this here radio!” as she held up her hand to reveal her two-way communication device used with the Guard House. Smiling again and checking her roster she said with a respectful whisper, “You’re in R-20.”

          By now my highly tuned instincts have deduced that there must be something special about site R-20. They were confirmed as ‘Lady Behind the Counter’ shouted to her fellow workers, “THESE GUYS HAVE R-20!”

          Desk Lady called out on her radio, “Escort needed at check -in.”

          “Someone will be right here to lead you to your site, sir.”  She proceeded to go over some basic rules and regulations as we waited for our escort.

          We were led nicely through this wonderfully kept campground. It was apparent that most of the sites were occupied by full-season renters, and many of those had obviously been here for years upon years because, you can’t make that many improvements to a site in just one season! There were rock walls, storage sheds, comfortable decks with screened-in sections, and a myriad of beautiful perennial flowers and shrubs to accent their particular sites.

          We were led all the way through the campground right to the front, right next to the unpronounceable lake.

          The only site on the lake!

          Our escort indicated our site with his arms and hands as if he were guiding a jet into a gate at the airport. He saluted and drove away.

          As soon as we settled into the site and proceeded to hook everything up, the lady next door, (an obvious “full-timer”) came out of her abode in a housedress and began explaining why we shouldn’t park our car where we had put it, and then went on to ask, “How’d you get R-20? Only a few folks get this one, it’s sold-out seasons in advance!”

          I just said, “Beginner’s luck I guess!” and went about the tasks of the final stages of making sure all was secure with the hook-ups.

          After finishing everything up, we had a chance to really appreciate where we were. Looking around we realized that we were the only site right on the lake and since our “Entertaining Side” (the side with the door and big awning) was on the lake side, we came to see how private this site was. No sharing of that side with anyone but the fishes and loons on the lake.

          We truly had happened upon a slice of Heaven in Maine!

          We were in Maine to visit Paula’s son, Brian, and his wife April, and her two kids, Jay and Stella. Brian and April live in a house that was built in the 1700’s and has been added on to, and modified, ever since. Brian is a Master Electrician so his ‘Tradesman Skills’ have come in handy as they are completely renovating their home along with caring for a gazillion chickens and other kinds of domesticated fowl that provide one and all with delicious eggs! They also have a prodigious garden whose surplus gets canned and stored for the long, cold, Maine winter!

          We were also going to do some sightseeing and determined that the best day for an excursion to the Coast and Acadia National Park would be on Thursday. So fore-armed with this information, Brain and April took that day off so they could accompany us. In preparing for the trip, it seems that the road to the top of Cadillac Mountain in Acadia is so popular that you need to reserve a time slot in order to go up there. Ours was from 9:30 to 10:00 AM. It provides a 360-degree panorama of the surrounding, bays and islands that is something to behold!

          Or so we were told.

Because when we arrived and started to drive to the 1500’ summit, we encountered clouds at 1400’ so that meant that we were ‘fogged in’ at the top.

          Oh well….

          We were able to get some nifty views from the pull-offs on the road on on our way back down. There is always next time!

          We worked our way around Mount Desert Island, which has most of the action when it comes to the Park, including the quaint little town of Bar Harbor. We decided that even though it was only 10:30 in the morning, that we would stop and get lunch before the crowds showed up. We had started our day on the early side because the drive to Acadia was about two and a half hours, so we commenced our sojourn around 6 AM (with no breakfast) and were getting a tad hungry.

          Apparently every other person in the Park, B&B, cruise ship, and hotel had the same idea. There was not even one slot to pull into in the entire town!

          I’m afraid to think what it looked like as the day progressed!

          So, back onto the Park Loop Road that circumnavigated the island. It is gorgeous and it is easy to see how and why this place is so popular, even back before the turn of the century, before it gained recognition as a local park and then was elevated to National Park status, the first National Park in the East!

          There were the usual ‘Industrial Tycoons’ that made these environs their summer homes and vacation destinations. Not the least of which was John D. Rockefeller Jr. who had the resources to “put his money where his mouth was” and decided that some nice carriage roads and bridges, worked deftly into the surrounding landscapes, would be a nice way to experience this area. Not only did he provide all the funds for the roads and bridges, but he also personally helped design and build these structures. He even took the time to learn the names of the workers that were constructing everything. One can still enjoy a fine carriage ride on these winding paths through the forests and seaside cliffs of Acadia National Park.

          Since we were not able to procure any vittles and libations in Bar Harbor we decided to delve into our Emergency Cheese Stick and Potato Chip Supply for a snack to hold us over until we got back on the mainland and down to Belfast. Belfast is one of Maine’s largest ports and has the requisite seafood restaurants to prove it. We dined at The Nautilus, (no… NOT the gym!) on the deck overlooking the harbor. The weather was perfect and so was our fare. Lobster Mac’n Cheese, Lobster Roll, Lobster Grilled Cheese, and Lobster Beer (only kidding, but you get my drift) were just a few items that we enjoyed that afternoon.

          Before we arrived in Belfast, we made a quick stop in Searsport so that I could run into BlueJacket Model Ships and pick up a few things. As you may imagine, this was a nirvana of sorts for me!

After lunch, April went to one of the cute stores that seem to proliferate along and in, these coastal towns, such as, Camden, Rockland, Boothbay Harbor, and of course, Bar Harbor (if you can get there!). April needed some kind of special wool for a project she was working on. Her cable-knit sweaters are works of art and get only the best wool in them!

          Back at Brian and April’s house we bid all farewell, as this was our last full day in Maine. The next morning, we left for Vermont and visit to Paula’s sister, Barbara, for a few days before returning to New Jersey, the Northeastern Home Port.

My goal when venturing into a region that I have previously not been exposed to is to try and get as much information as possible and to do that I try and find a source that has the most credibility.

          In Gloucester, Massachusetts, home of the oldest fishing fleet in North America, my goal was far surpassed when I chanced upon Harold Burnham and his schooner Ardelle.

          When it came to taking the fam on a cruise in Gloucester Harbor well, it didn’t get any better than Harold and his boat. While I am sure that there are other very nice enterprises out there that can provide one with a memorable experience, I am equally sure that very few, (none!) that has the heritage and knowledge of Harold Burnham, Master Shipwright, and multi-generational wooden ship builder.

          Harold built the Ardelle along with other classic Gloucester fishing schooners in the next town over, Essex. Essex has been the site of a plethora of shipyards since the 1600’s so that line runs deep and true when it comes to the building of traditional (read seaworthy!) Gloucester sailing vessels.

          Upon our arrival at the docks of  Maritime Gloucester, we were heartily greeted by Harold and K.D. his “First Mate” of sorts. K.D. holds a Master’s License for up to 50 GWT (Gross Weight Tons) ships and needs a few more “days” of sailing to get her Sailing (wind-powered) Endorsement on her license. Harold is her “instructor” and can sign off on her logbook of experience. When she has the required number of days, she will be eligible for the Coast Guard exam. From the looks of things, she will have no problems passing with the proverbial ”Flying Colors”, a term which coincidentally, has a nautical genesis to it. Back in the day, when ships went to sea for battle, they would return to port with their flags flying to indicate a successful voyage and lowered if they had been defeated. Hence the term ‘Flying Colors“ has been used to describe something that has been completed very successfully!

          K.D. took charge of the embarkation and skillfully backed us out of the berth and into the harbor with one long blast on the horn indicating “getting underway”, followed by three short blasts (backing up). A small pleasure power boat apparently did not understand the meaning of the signals and while there was no danger, probably should have “gave way” and let us proceed first.

          No worries, all part of the learning process.

          Once we had cleared the dock area K.D. turned the helm over to Harold and enlisted the help of the “crew”, namely Augustus, Adelaide, and Eleanor in hoisting the jib and sails. The kids are starting sailing lessons at the Manchester-by-the-Sea Yacht Club in a few days, and I told Harold to “put them to work”! Donny and Hilary also joined in and soon the sails were catching the steady breeze out in the harbor.

          While K.D. and the “Maties” were engaged in the hoisting of the sails, Harold greeted and shouted salutations to practically every boat that we passed. It seems that Harold is about as well known around here as anyone can be. In fact, he built (or owned) any number of the vessels that we passed, each with a story unto itself.

          Our voyage was steady and relatively calm, much to the satisfaction of those on board that suffer from a possible case of motion distress. On our way out, K.D. engaged her ‘crew’ with a lesson in knots and had each one successfully tie a “Daisey Chain” which keeps a long line neat and tidy while allowing you to un-do it with just one pull on the bitter end, kind of a disappearing knot as it were.

          We had watched the weather forecasts all week long hoping for promising conditions for this outing. The Weather Idiots had the day not looking good at all and we kind of inched our way through the week, checking the forecast as we went along. Luckily, the Maritime Gods, namely King Neptune and his Court, smiled favorably on us and we had perfect weather for sailing. The lesson here is to not pay any attention to the Prognosticators of Doom and just go about your plans!

          The weather was so good that we passed the end of the harbor jetty and out into the open ocean until we rounded the Queen Ann’s Cow buoy, (a local term) named because the sound that it gives off is not unlike the mooing of a cow. This is accomplished by a bellows arrangement inside the buoy that rise and falls with the action of the waves.

           It sounded very content. 😊

          On our return to the harbor proper, a seagull alighted upon the shoulder of K.D.

          This was “Mooch” a friend of theirs that has an affinity for Cheese Doodles which K.D. was more than happy to provide. Seagulls are very opportunistic eaters, which was very well illustrated by his presence on the Ardelle. When some of their friends and acquaintances suggested that they may want to feed Mooch some thing a little more nutritious, Mooch promptly rebelled.

          So, Cheese Doodles it is!

          As we got close to port, we passed Ten-Pound Light which was familiar to me from the movie “The Perfect Storm”. Ten Pound Island was the home of Winslow Homer, as a lighthouse-keeper, and you can see the replication of the rocks and environs in some of his art.

          K.D skillfully guided us back to our berth with Harold giving helpful suggestions along the way, such as, the best way to utilize a spring line in bringing the boat in and snugging it up to the dock.

          Fond farewells were exchanged and Harold and K.D. mentioned that they don’t remember ever having a better-behaved group of kids on their boat, a nice compliment indeed.

          So, when you come to Cape Ann, look no further than the Ardelle and Harold, et al, to provide you with a wonderful nautical experience on the waters of historic Gloucester, Massachusetts.

          And say Hi! to Mooch for us!

I remember it well.

          Halloween, 1991, the date of the Perfect Storm.

          My Grandmother had a house on the bay in Beach Haven West on the Jersey Shore, and to me, the weather at the shore was more important than the weather at home.

          Cleaning up after a “Big One” was always a challenge. And besides, my boat, Daydream Believer, (I love The Monkees!) was  innocently wintering on the side of the house, hopefully high enough to prevent her from floating down the street!

          All ended ok, just the usual post-storm clean and fix-up needed.

          Fast forward nine years to June of 2000.

          Sebastian Junger’s best-selling book, The Perfect Storm, was made into a movie and released.

          I was there on Opening Day and even got the movie poster from the lobby! I guess that there was something about both the story and my connection to storms along the East Coast that drew me in. I was not disappointed and promptly fell in love with Gloucester, Massachusetts, which was the home port of the Andrea Gail, the sword fishing boat that was the main storyline in the book.

          I really wanted to visit there and see for myself the place where her trip began.

          Fast-forward another twenty-one years and here we are, just a stone’s throw away from the port of Gloucester, the oldest fishing port in the United States. The fishing industry started here in the 1600’s and has been a mainstay of the area ever since. I can still taste the Gorton’s of Gloucester Fish Sticks that my mom made us every Friday when we were kids!

          We are here at the Cape Ann Campsites for about a week visiting with my son Donny and his family. Donny, Hilary, Augustus, Adelaide and Eleanor, along with Mali the dog, and eight new baby chickens have been living here for about two weeks now, having just purchased their first home in Manchester-by-the Sea, one of the three main towns on Cape Ann. The other two are the aforementioned Gloucester, and the other is Rockport, which is situated out on the easternmost tip of Cape Ann.

          The connection to the sea in these environs is so strong that you can taste it! Which we did on our first night here. Donny brought us to Woodman’s, a water-side seafood eatery that has been run by the same family for over a hundred years and is still thriving.  USA Today has named it the “Best Seafood Shack in America”. A taste of their fare is all that is needed to see why. From the ubiquitous lobster rolls to the incredible battered and fried sea scallops, we were not disappointed and are eagerly awaiting a return voyage to them, but this time we may order smaller portions because there was no way to finish all of it!

          The shipbuilding industry, while not as thriving as it once was back in the day, is still present here on Cape Ann. Tomorrow, weather permitting, we will be sailing on the Ardelle,  a schooner built here on the Cape by her owner and Captain, Harold Burnham. Harold is a Master Shipwright, and his family has been building classic Cape Ann ships for generations. It will be only us on the boat. Augustus, Adelaide, and Eleanor are starting three weeks of sailing lessons on Monday and my plan is to give them an exciting introduction to this sport.

          We shall see!

So here we are, back in Sussex County for the foreseeable future, a.k.a. “The Summer.”

          A few side trips are planned, one to Boston to see my son Donny and his family. One to Maine to visit Brian, Paula’s son, and his family. Over to Vermont to visit Barbara, Paula’s sister. And  a week down the shore in Beach Haven with my sister Kathy and all of her fam, and my daughter Heather and her family. Kathy rents a cool house that was once a B&B with about eleven bedrooms, most with their own bathrooms, so it works really well!

          We’ve been driving all over, dropping in on friends and former co-workers. The reception has been great, it’s nice to know that you’ve been missed!

          One topic that comes up regularly is The Chatterbox.

          “Hey, have you seen the Chatterbox? I mean where the Chatterbox used to be!”

          “Uh, yea, I’ve been there.”

          “Not the same, huh?”

          “Well, no it’s not. It’s not supposed to be the same, we sold it.

          “Yea, but don’t you miss it?

          “Sure I do, I’ve told everyone that the fifteen years that we were there were some of the best in my life! I miss a great Cruise Night or Bike Night, I miss my customers and employees, and I miss all the things that we did for the folks in Sussex County. But I’ll tell you what I don’t miss.”

          “What?”

          “I don’t miss trying to pay the bills in the winter. I don’t miss trying to keep the septic system functioning. I don’t miss the air conditioning system keeping the place at barely 85 degrees on a hot day in the summer, and I don’t miss times like when the well pump gave out on a Fourth of July weekend and I had to have water trucked in, to the tune of $6000.00 just for three days until it got repaired!”

          “Yea, well anyway, I’ll never go to Wawa!

          “What? Are you kidding me?”

          “Yea, they’re the reason the Chatterbox went away! They made you sell it!

          “Made me sell it? Are you daft? Wawa saved my ass! I was able to exit gracefully, pay all of my debts and only lose my original investment from 15 years ago! Wawa is my hero!”

          “Yea, well anyway, I sure do miss it and I’m still pissed at Wawa.”

          “Well, you could have bought it and kept it the same.”

          “What!!!??? Do you think I’m Crazy!!!???”

          I rest my case.

          So, I did visit the sight. It is obviously different, but it is supposed to be different. I think that I’m happier with the building being gone, perfect memories abound in my mind, rather than seeing it being used as a used car lot, furniture store, or any other sort of enterprise.

          Good memories are the perfect vehicle of nostalgia.

          I choose the good memories.

Stardate 2020.06.14

          “More power!”

“Scotty, I need more power!”

          “I need everything diverted to the Forward Deflector Shields!”

          “I’ve given ye all she’s got Captain! I haven’ no more to give ye!”

          Captain Don, of the Starship Winnebago, glance worriedly over at First Officer Paula, who just shrugged her shoulders and said quietly,

          “I’ve never seen it so bad, but don’t worry, she’ll hold together.”

          Outside, the barrage continued.

          The damage to the Forward Viewscreen became more and more apparent as the remnants of the Drones splattered on the outer hull of the Starship.

          Captain Don lamented, “This will be a mess to clean up. If I use the Viewscreen Clearing Gear it will just smear their remains all over and it will take half a light-year to fix! We’re way too close to the Sun this time of year and the Cosmic Radiational Effect will fry the bastards onto us like seared scallops to an un-seasoned  skillet!”

          The Starship Winnebago was hurtling down Intergalactic Route 70 passing through the wilds of the Outer Rim Colony of Marylandia when the attack commenced.

          An alien race, the Cicadians, had unleased their Red-Eyed Kamikaze Drones on all unsuspecting craft traveling through the Northeast Quadrant of the Home Planet and the attack was forecast to continue for another few weeks before the Cicadians would eventually die off.

          But, not before they instilled billions of Sleeper Cells that would return in the future and unleash their savage attack (purportedly in 17 years) on the Intergalactic Travelers of 2038.

          The only course was to hold on until the end and hope that by 2038 better deflector shields will be developed by Starfleet or, be retired by then and not need to deal with this kind of viciousness again.

          Captain Don steeled himself and came to the realization that, unfortunately for now, the only course left open for him was to endure the attacks until the Cicadians eventually wore themselves out and died.

          The Starship Winnebago continued on her Five -Year Mission to explore strange new places, to seek out new restaurants and new National Parks, to boldly go where no Motorhome has gone before.

Nashville.

                   Just the sound of that city’s name sends shivers up and down any Country Music fan’s spine.

          Down at the honky-tonk.

          The honky-tonk?

          Or a honky-tonk?

          Depends on whether you’re going down to a specific location or just heading out to a random venue. Both work.

          But what in the name of all that’s holy is a honky-tonk?

          Do you like Country Music?

          To stretch the vernacular, any place that you can hear Country Music (and have a beer) is a honky-tonk.

          Except maybe Madison Square Garden, where you can do both but that would really stretch it.

          A lot!

          Nashville’s Lower Broadway is an endless array of bars.

          Honky-tonks.

          Because here, more than anywhere else on the planet, you can listen to Country Music. Played and sung by some incredibly talented people, some famous, some who should be famous.

          None of which are not talented.

          This place is obviously unique. Name me another city where you can go door to door (I am not exaggerating) and hear (pick your genre) your favorite music.

          Non-stop.

          Morning ‘til morning.

          Open ‘til close.

          Almost 365.

          It’s always been like this, but not quite like this.

          Back in the day, before the ‘90’s, this part of Nashville was just as run down as any old city in the country was. Sleezy bars, pawn shops, peep shows, you name it, it was all here.

          Back before the day, when Nashville was just a good ‘ole town in Tennessee, Country Music was popular, but only in the country. Not even close to being as mainstream as it is now.

          The pinnacle of making it in the Country Music world was being invited to sing and play on Saturday night on the Grand Ole Opry stage in the Ryman Auditorium. Here the likes of Hank Williams Sr. , George Jones, Loretta Lynn, Little Jimmy Dickens, et al, plied their trade,  and if they were really lucky, they were invited to join the Grand Ole Opry as a member, not just a stage performer.

          The Opry started in 1925 on WSM out of Nashville and continues to this day, making it the longest running radio broadcast show in history, coming up on it’s 100 th anniversary.

          The Ryman Auditorium was the home of the Opry from 1943 until 1974 when a new venue was constructed a few miles away near the now defunct Opryland Amusement Park. The new performing theatre was larger and more modern, having things like air-conditioning and other essential amenities.

          What it didn’t have is history.

          While the Opry has been in its current location for 47 years, it still considers the Ryman Auditorium as it’s spiritual home and returns there several times a year, to pay homage to its roots.

          As like anything in this world, things change.

          Some for the better, some not, and this position is usually dictated by one’s perspective.

          Stay the course or modernize?

          How far do you take it?

          What parameters will folks endure without having them feel abandoned?

          Nashville is changing, and everyone wants a piece of that Golden Ring. Millions, no, probably billions, are being poured into Nashville and its environs. The city is littered with cranes on top of buildings, lifting them up story by story, making room for both residents and potential new business opportunities. The likes of The Four Seasons and other upscale hostelries are currently under construction. These guys don’t just show up and decide to build. They do their homework, and only invest in cities that they see a bright future in.

          NASCAR is back.

          First time in about 20 years.

          If ever there was a match made in heaven , it’s NASCAR and Nashville. NASCAR even moved its  Championship Banquet to Nashville last year. Nashville has two world-class Convention Centers and is getting more popular every year.

          This is the city to go to for both bachelor and bachelorette destination parties. This was evident even as we walked around. Que the nine young ladies, dressed nicely, wearing their cowgirl boots, roaming from honky-tonk to honky-tonk on lower Broadway. It was quite evident.

          We left the Ryman and made our way across town, (everything is walkable) to the other hallowed building in Nashville.

          The Country Music Hall of Fame.

          This is a special place, and they know it. The curators here do such a fine job of enveloping you in the soft twangs of nostalgia, that you feel like you’re wearing Dolly Parton’s Coat of Many Colors.

          We spent about two and a half hours there and barely scratched the surface. When the history and base of something is centered in a particular area, it just feels right to have a place like the Hall of Fame located here.

          The main reason that we came to Nashville was to visit with two awesome former Chatterbox employees, Joey Oldock and Racheal Condit.

          I try not to throw the word awesome around indiscriminately, because not everything is awesome.       

          But these two are.

          They both started in lower ranked positions as kids at the Chatterbox and quickly displayed their talents and willingness to learn and advance, to the point where they were both Shift Managers and had total control of our beloved restaurant. I told Joey years ago that he was a natural in the Service Industry and aside from his music, Joey has made a name for himself down here. Joey has found a home at an establishment called The Goat, which has about 9 locations and is part of an organization that just hit a Billion dollars in sales! His presence in this town was evident as we walked around Nashville and his customers smiled and waved to him.

          Rachel’s passion was always to help others and that path has led her to be accepted into the University of Tennessee’s Graduate School where she is pursuing a Master’s in Social Work. There will be no finer person to hold this title that I know of.

          I am so incredibly proud of these two and seeing them grow from the little kids at the Chatterbox to these fine examples of adults made the visit that much more special.

          We will be back.

          In a word, ‘Yes’.

          “Jeezz, Don! Is that any way to start a blog post?”

          I guess it is, I certainly got your attention, didn’t I?

          But, more on that later.

          Meanwhile, back at the ranch, we find Paula and Don readying their covered wagon for the arduous journey back East to visit friends and loved ones for the summer. In reality we did start from the ranch, or farm, as it were, because this leg began at TomBoy Farm in Durango, Colorado, home to CubScout and Ling-Ling the cats, Chloe the goat, and 13 chickens who have received various and sundry names over the course of the past few years. There is Squishy, who as a young chick, would be incessantly underfoot and we all know what happens to little chicks that insist on behaving that way.

          Yup.

          Squish!

          But not so squished as to have a very truncated life.

          Just enough squish as to require time spent inside the house and be lovingly tended to by Lorelyn and the “Chicken Whisperer”, Travis.

          The story obviously has a happy ending because Squishy is still pecking around the yard, oblivious to her almost fateful genesis.

          Then, there is Tiny Hiny, the root of today’s Post Title and the latest medical miracle being sustained at TomBoy Farm. It seems that Tiny has an affliction known as a ‘Prolapsed Vent’, in short, it’s a ‘Chicken Hemorrhoid’.

          I don’t know about you, but I’m not sure why they ALL don’t have this issue, with pushing out those Large, Extra-Large, and Jumbo elliptical Morsels of Breakfast Delights that we simply call ‘eggs’.

          Not just any eggs mind you, these are “Farm-Fresh, Free-Range, No Antibiotics, as close to Heaven, no Rooster around, Happy Chicken Eggs” as you can get.

                   So, I will spare you the graphic details of the proper care and treatment of this condition, but I almost had to deal with Tiny and her problem on my own.

          Here is the back-story.

          Lorelyn and Travis asked us if we could mind the farm for them if they went to California to visit with Travis’s family. We readily agreed and decided that we would get to Durango a few days early in order to receive our “Farm -Sitters Certification” before they vamoosed to the West. In the meantime, Paula’s sister-in-law, Janet, took a turn for the worst in her battle with MDS, and Paula flew to Vermont to help out her sister, Barbara.

          This left me all alone with the critters, not the least of which was Tiny. In short, the First Aid that Travis imbued upon Tiny was sufficient enough to have them leave with a clear conscience, but I still need to keep an eye on her. She had no further issues, much to my obvious delight.

          Luckily, all of my charges responded nicely to the “Shake the Treats Bag” trick , which made round-up time fairly easy. Everyone gets tucked into their respective beds for the night, safe and sound so no Big Nasties can get to them.

          It is a Critter-Eat-Critter world out here in the Wild West, a definite fact of life, but I was going to do my darndest to make sure that nobody “bought the farm” on my watch!

          The day after Lorelyn and Travis left for California was, in fact, a tad lonely. Feeling a bit sorry for myself and expressing that emotion to Paula when we spoke on the phone, made me realize that I definitely had the easier of our two situations. Helping her sister deal with the last days of Janet was a place that none of us would want to be.

          My dose of reality sunk in and I realized that I had the far better scenario and I quickly started to just make the most of several days of talking only to my charges.

          They did talk back.

          It’s amazing how fluent one can become in Chickenese, Goatalk, and Meowspeak with just a few days of practice! After six days I was almost as fluent as Travis and Lorleyn are, but I’m sure that all of my wards were happy to see ‘Mom and Dad’ when they returned home the Sixth Day.

           Two and a half weeks later, and after Janet’s ‘Celebration of Life’, Paula returned to Colorado. Pausing for a brief respite of a few days so Paula could relax a bit, we started our trip back East, with our first destination being Nashville, Tennessee, the home of The Grand Ole Opry and Joey Oldock, one of my most beloved (not just by me!)former employees at the Chatterbox.

          It’s Interstate 40 practically the entire way, staying at the rest areas in various states. We have arrived at what we believe is the best schedule for driving.

          I start out in the morning because that’s when I’m at my best.

          I drive for a few hours and then Paula takes over ‘til lunchtime.

          Then I resume for the early afternoon until I start to nod off, and then Paula takes over for the mid-afternoon shift which leaves me snoozing in the co-pilots seat (nice co-pilot, huh) after which I switch back to the pilot’s seat and finish out our travel day, usually around 4 or 5 PM. We have been listening to books-on-tape(?) (What a misnomer!), so far we’ve heard, Unbroken, Into Thin Air, and we are currently a few chapters into Swiss Family Robinson.

          Last night was spent at a rest area in Arkansas, which is the first one we’ve encountered where they separate the cars, trailers, and motorhomes from the trucks. Usually, we are mixed in with the trucks which have  tendency to leave their motors running which makes for a noisy night.

          Last night was as calm as can be. 😊

          Today we arrive in Nashville, just in time for me to sign my recording contract.

          I’ll keep you posted.

As with most prominent geological features in this part of the West, Chimney Rock is of considerable significance to both the present Native Americans and the Anasazi, or Ancestral Puebloans.

          We’ve driven past it several times over the years. It’s on the way to Pagosa Springs and eventually east to the Denver Road or towards Santa Fe, New Mexico, and points south.

          As you can see from the photo, it’s almost impossible to miss.

          Apparently the Old Ones thought so too. There is ample evidence of habitations up there. Pueblo’s, kiva’s, storage rooms, and the like, abound both near the summit and at its base (which is still a long trek from the valley floor.)

          Since there isn’t anyone around from approximately a thousand years ago, we have to rely on current studies of these edifices and some practical knowledge of living back then to give us an idea of how this aerie was probably used. At 7600 feet of elevation, the winter snows make it improbable that it was inhabited year-round. More likely it was used primarily as a ceremonial site. One which, if you observe the vast pueblo that was built here, had great importance to them.

          There is one hugely significant detail about Chimney Rock that distinguishes it from any other place in the world.

          It is an archaeo-astronomical site.

          So is Stone Henge and the others like it around the world.

          But, all of those were constructed by man, to help him chart, understand, and predict events like solstices and equinoxes.

          This site was discovered by The Old Ones. It was constructed by Nature!

          It just so happens that every 18.6 years or so (the length of a full lunar cycle) the moon “stands still” in between the spires of Chimney Rock and its neighbor Companion Rock.

          It’s called by a very official, informative, and obvious name, an MLS or a “Major Lunar Standstill”

          I don’t know about you, but I have trouble remembering what happened 18.6 days ago, never mind 18.6 years ago! It kind of illustrates how the ancient cultures devoted copious amounts of time, and resources, to the art of observing the events unfolding above them. The first tree ring dating’s of construction of this site are from 1076, which was a MLS year, and a second construction phase was dated to 1093/1094, the next MLS!

Coincidence?

Maybe.

          As you may imagine, this is the place to be every 18.6 years!

          The next MLS is scheduled to begin……..

          NOW!

          In 2021!

          The National Forest Service already has a list of wanna-be-participants. These are ranked in order of preference (importance?) in which, thankfully, the local Native Americans supersede all others. These include the Utes, Navajos, Hopi’s, and other pueblo tribes that can trace their ancestry back to The Old Ones and this region. This issue is compounded by the relatively small area at the top and the extremely small knife-edge trail (see photo) that one must traverse in order to get here. Compounding this issue is the Media, who want, or feel, the need (?) to be there with cameras and their on-air personalities.

          We shall see.

          In any event, the view from up there is nothing short of magnificent, but then, you are gazing down at some of America’s most beautiful landscapes in Colorful Colorado.

           They live up to their moniker nicely!

Well, something DID come up that is writable about!

          Yesterday Lorelyn and I were in downtown Durango picking up some books from Maria’s Bookshop, one of the finest booksellers on the planet. When we were done she called Adam, one of her associates from her old law firm and asked him if he’d like to join us at the speakeasy.

          That is correct.

          An actual, real life, concealed door in the bookcase, old time, done correctly, speakeasy.

          The Bookcase and Barber.

The exterior looks like any barber shop that you would go to, complete with the spinning barber pole.  You can go in and get a haircut, or…

          If you know the password…..

          You get to go behind the swinging bookcase and enter a dimly lit, very comfortable old bar.

          No one can see inside from the street, there are reflective glass windows that help illuminate the interior. People stroll by outside not even giving this place a second thought.

          Unless….

          Someone has “tipped” you off on it and you’ve gone on their Facebook page and procured the current password.

          Adam happens to be one of their best customers, so his password, “my money is green“, got us in with no problem. In  fact, we arrived before they opened, but they let us in so we could wait inside comfortably. It not what you know… It’s who you know!

          It’s totally cool, and about as authentic as it can be in the 21^st Century. Not that I would know what an authentic speakeasy was like, I don’t even drink!

          Except yesterday.

          Story time!

          Back in the day, like 47 years ago, I was the closing manager on Monday nights at my Dad’s restaurant, The Cozy Tavern. After we closed at 11 PM, we would all go up to Pompton Plains and go to The Rum Seller, a bar that stayed open much later. All of the staff from other restaurants in the surrounding area would come here after their respective bars, etc. had closed. The only thing that I liked to drink back then was the old standby, a Whiskey Sour, because it was kind of sweet, depending on how much sugar one put into it.

          Sue, one of my co-workers, who was married to Greg, another co-worker, who was the son of Hank, our head bartender, whose girl friend was Oona, our head waitress, who was related to another great restaurant in Clifton called All in the Family, suggested that I may like a Jack Rose.

          A Jack Rose is one of those cocktails that only your grandparents knew about. It consists of Applejack, lemon juice, grenadine, and an egg white for the foam on top.

          Well, it turned into my favorite drink and I’d have one a week on Monday nights with the crew.

          Eons later I would reminisce and long for a good Jack Rose, but alas, nobody makes them anymore. At least not correctly. I think it’s even hard to get a good Whiskey Sour! I decided to take accounts into my own hands and scour the earth for the correct ingredients and make one myself.

          Voila! It all came together nicely and during a phone conversation, I recounted my experience to Lorelyn, who said that she would check out a place in Durango that may be old timey enough to have one.

          Sure enough, there on their drink menu, was the Steinbeck. (All of their signature drinks are named after that era’s authors.) It was their version of it, using lime juice instead of lemon, but it was REALLY good, and I enjoyed both the company and the libation.

          Maybe in another 47 years I’ll try a different cocktail.

For those of you clamoring for more Tales of Adventure,

          Here they are…..

          But….. not yet!

          We are safely ensconced in our Durango Parking Site for the next few weeks before we begin the actual Eastward Summer Migration.

          In reality, I’m here and Paula was called back to Vermont where her sister-in-law, Janet, is on Hospice. We left Texas last week and found out that Paula was needed in Vermont while we were in route. We cut short our planned itinerary and arrived in Durango a day ahead of schedule. She left here the next day bound for Newark.

          In the meantime, I am endeavoring to keep busy with tasks large and small, both on the motorhome and helping out Lorelyn and Travis around TomBoy Farm.

          I replaced the “House” water pump which supplies the water for the sinks, showers, etc. in the motorhome. The previous one was making a bit too much noise and rather that have it fizz out somewhere inconvenient, I elected to replace it now and keep the old on as a back-up if ever needed.  I also replaced the big 24”x12” wooden “pads” that our hydraulic jacks rest on when we are parked. These puppies come in handy when the ground may not be quite firm enough to support our 26,000 pounds or when we park in a parking lot or driveway in the summer and the asphalt is hot. It is considered bad manners to leave big “dinner plate” sized divots in your hosts driveway!

          I’ve included two photos of what a typical “End-of-Day-Windshield” looks like. Since Spring has sprung and the bugs abound, unfortunately our view forward rapidly evolves into a daily viewing that only a masochistic entomologist could enjoy.

          So far, the only job that I’ve been asked to do is put a coat of wood preservative on Lorelyn and Travis’s new garage doors that are on their yet to be finished Garage/Workshop/Upstairs Apartment building that will be an awesome addition to TomBoy Farm.

          Thanks for checking in, and as soon as there is something that I consider “Writeable” I will get it out to you!