North To Maine

We wrapped up our stay in Pennsylvania with a get-together with a bunch of the guys that were in the award winning Wilson High School band together back in 1966 (Oooo, that sounds lousy). It was a great event. From there we headed north to Connecticut to spend a wee bit of time with my BFF Steve and his wife. Then a stop-over in Boothbay Harbor to visit Marilyn's BFF Nancy. We confess to eating every last bit of the "Five For $30" lobster special while camped out there at Shore Hills. Yesterday we landed in our main (Maine) destination at Patten Pond near both Ellsworth and Sedgewick, Maine. We'll be visiting with Dick and Sarah and seeing what trouble we can get into around the house that they built. Hopefully we get some "dirt" time in the greenhouse- that's opretty much what we miss most about being on the road full time- the gardens. True, we have two traveling herb pots that are pleasant enough, but that's just not the same.

I'm gonna put up a few shots from our day trip to Camden, Maine- a town just north of where we ran our business. It's cute. It's quaint. maybe even picturesque- but didn't seem to be so to the degree it always used to be. Of all the coastal towns that we drove through on the trip north I have to say that my old Rockland looked the best. Cudos to them. They seem to be "up" while much of the coast looks "down" to me. Places where a reservation was not only a must in the past but also darn hard to get- you can now just drive in and pick your spot. Staycations seem to be the norm pretty much where-ever we go right now. It's a shame, especially in places where the tourist season is short but oh so important....

I'm finding it hard to get back into the routine of posting and photographing, photographing and posting. Dealing with the loss of someone who has been such a big part of life takes some of the wind from your sails to be sure. So please be patient if the pace of the blog comes back however gradually. Much of what we can do right now is more internal that what we have been doing in the past.......

Below: Camden, Maine- where the mountains meet the sea and the harbor is punctuated with a waterfall that cascades out from under the main street businesses like The Smiling Cow

Terror In Trailerville

When last I posted I posed the question: "What next?" In the weeks, even months, since then most of what happened was making sure that the family business was all in order after dad's death. It was a somber task and a consuming challenge- especially in light of trying to get things done quickly rather than over the years that such things often require. While trying to accomplish all this, we pretty much stayed at the house. The coach was in the shop for a while undergoing the body work that needed doing from the previous trip to Pennsylvania when a tow truck cracked the frond end of the rig while hauling it in to repair a broken antifreeze line. But most of the time, it sat unattended in a campground just waiting for our very occasional visits to check that everything was going OK. Problem was it wasn't always going OK. A back flow preventer in the water line got a tad fussy and allowed salt water from the softener system to circulate through the coach. I suppose a saltwater shower is an all right kinda thing but as drinking water it's the pits. This happened not once, but twice during our prolonged stay at the house. On yet another visit to the coach, we arrived to find that the super fancy side by side refrigerator freezer that can run on electricity or propane decided that it was no longer prepared to work so hard if no one was going to be around to appreciate it- so it stopped- taking with it several hundred dollars worth of meat and produce that was stored in the unit. Turns out those reports of 3500 dollar repair jobs on RV fridge cooling units are very true indeed.We could have lived with that. It was the mold and the melty, slimy, nasty juice and warmed up funk that we could have lived without. Having to deal with that at a time like this, or anytime for that matter....is just plain WRONG. But you play with the hand you are dealt, unless of course you are willing to fold and walk away. I wasn't made like that, which I suppose is the best reason I don't play poker. Bluff was never my strong suit.

But all these things are tolerable, if barely so. Trouble takes your breath for a time but hardly ever stops you from breathing. But on our last visit to check the coach we got more than would let you keep breathing for a time and made the heart race way faster than it was ever intended to beat.

There had been severe thundershowers in the area. The Pennsylvania days had been heated to the 90's and the humidity was typically high and heavy. But as we turned into the fields of corn that are the approach to the Thousand Trails Preserve in Hershey (it's actually Lebanon, but called Hershey camp), we got our first glimpse of the trouble that lay ahead. The corn stalks were stripped like tassels on a graduation cap. First there were fields that were not like this...and then all of a sudden the fields were all like this. Across the corn field by the tree line there were branches on the ground first. Than small trees. Then larger trees and branches. Road signs warned of danger and closed areas. What was going on here? We had a bad bad feeling as we turned into camp. Trees were down everywhere- some broken but many out of the ground root ball and all. Signs were where they didn't belong. Roofs were missing from structures that had them just days prior. Debris was scattered in every direction and with no rhyme nor reason. Bad storm? For sure. TORNADO!

Once the authorities arrived at camp to assess the situation, it was declared that the storm had been an EF-0 tornado. As tornadoes go that is a small one - 80 mile an hour winds in rotation. Lesson learned: Never want to be in a big one! Or at least never want to be AWAKE when a big one hits. There was plenty of damage to camp. Power out and lines down. Water off line. Sewer plant damaged beyond immediate use. The effort was on cutting downed trees so the rigs that could still move could be evacuated. It was reported that at least 40 of the rigs in camp could not be moved. They had not been picked up and slammed back down as they surely would have been in a bigger tornado. But a giant oak or maple laying across or alongside your rig makes it realty hard to drive down the road. Trust me; I've been there, done that.

If there was good news in the mix, it was certainly the fact that absolutely no one in camp was harmed, including the young family staying in the cabin directly in front of us, which was unfortunately the final resting place of the tree in front of us as well. As the winds were swirling it could just as easily have landed on us. Grateful we are! But there was bad news as well. An adjacent horse farm that raises thoroughbreds had twenty six of their horses cut badly when the barn collapsed and another three that were mauled so badly they had to be put down immediately. The owner of the farm was himself trapped in the barn but was evacuated with only modest wounds.

Family's and neighbors who experienced the late afternoon storm first hand reported it was the scariest thing they had ever experienced. They spoke about the noise. They spoke about the fear that they would have their rig rolled over or be crushed under all the trees coming down. They spoke of the rain that didn't fall at all because it was going sideways. They spoke and then they feel strangely silent as the thoughts of the storm were maybe too much to cope with at the moment. Ten minutes of terror had created a lifetime of concern. We have experienced as much with the nine, yes 9, hurricanes that we have gone through- everything from a Cat 1 to a Cat 5.

Somewhere hence around a late night campfire there will be tales to tell of the tornado that attacked the campground near Hershey. Of the fear that huddled campers in the corners of their all too flimsy rigs. Of feelings that were felt for the first time ever. Of the will to survive and carry on.....

There was one, and only one, as best we could tell, among the campers at the meeting the next day, who was unhappy with the response. I have no idea where he was coming from. That group of campers and rangers whipped out their chain saws, their shovels, their ladders and tackled that debris with the same ferocity that the storm had come in to camp. And a person who saw the camp on day two or even day three after the storm would have had no idea exactly what damage had been done. Campers are a determined lot; gypsies with an attitude. For tomorrow - we will move on.....one way or another. And that is as it must be in life.

What Next?

Last couple weeks we have been dealing with grief management and family business. Apparently now I need to add some anger management to the mix. And I'm writing this not so much to vent anything as to solicit some help to right what I see as a mega injustice. The Mammoth Ivory Tusk that hung above the sales counter in the Outpost of the Chicken Gold Camp in one of our all time favorite places in this world- Chicken Alaska- was stolen at a recent break in to the Outpost. Something like this should not happen in Chicken Alaska, and for certain it must not be allowed to stand. I know I have a lot of Alaska fans and some residents with good connections there among my readers, so I'm asking for your help- anything you can do. Be on the watch for the appearance or the sale of ivory that seems to be out of the ordinary. Talk to native products dealers in your town- carving, etching, etc. Mike Busby is asking for photos of the tusk (if you have any good ones especially) to be posted on his Face Book page or on the page of the Chicken Gold Camp. The Busbys work sun up to sun down to find and archive such precious artifacts from the region. Those of you who have been there know that sun up to sun down- in the land of the midnight sun- means they work tirelessly and endlessly to preserve such wonderful pieces.They BELONG in Chicken. This particular specimen was just awesome in size and quality. Check your pictures if you have been to the camp. Post what you have that may help or send it to me to do the same. Touch bases in your community with those who might get a lead. That this can happen in Chicken and to these honest and hard working and fun loving people really ticks me off! They are the kind of people that make Alaska the amazing place it is. Let's pull all the stops to see if there is anything the readers of this post can do to set things right!

Below is my only even decent photo of the tusk. Click on the picture to enlarge it. The tusk is hanging in the photo upper left over the sales counter. It's not the perfect picture- but it's a start! can you help????

Reporting For Duty

Reporting For Duty
Samuel Charles Gundy
March 28, 1918 - April 23, 2010

A man of science and a child of God passed into the early morning cloud formations after a week of waging one final battle to hold on to life and stay behind with those he loved so well. As I and others had done for the better part of a week, I sat beside him and attended to his needs as best I was able. At such a time, the willingness to help and the ability to help are dueling realities. There was for all intents and purposes nothing that I or any of us could do to help besides be there and provide whatever comfort that may have been. The desire to hold on must be tempered by the permission to let go - a balancing act that I found to be one of the more substantive challenges of my life. Dignity- so hard to achieve in life seems even harder to maintain at such a time.

Family was all present and accounted for. Hospice volunteers and providers were a constant source of comfort and guidance. If you believe in angels, you might just consider that one or many of them are by your side when Hospice and Home Instead arrive on location. I had one hand on my dad’s heart and the other holding his hand when he drew his last breath and the heart began its permanent state of rest. The moment I had dreaded for so long a time was actually very peaceful. Regrets, there were none. Everything said that needed to be. And as he went, the expression on his face transformed the pain of more than half a century into the smile of a lifetime, a most curious miracle that astounded us all and delivered the message that all was well with him…and that it should be so with those of us left behind.

Somewhere above, a spirit (probably wearing a flight jacket with a B-17 pin on the lapel and shoulder patch) flies even without wings, marveling at all the undiscovered mysteries of the next life. And at the gates of Heaven arrives a dashing now young-again pilot who stands before his maker and offers in full and honorable fashion, with a click of the heels and a crisp salute:

First Lieutenant Samuel C. Gundy
Reporting For Duty As Ordered, Sir!

-Gregory S. Gundy, April 23, 2010

Consolidated In Dahlonega

Camp is all set up in Cleveland, GA at the LDMA Loud Mine property. But after two days of setting up and settling in, rain was in the forecast. Last time we were here we visited the Crisson Mine, and we stopped by there again today. The stamping plant is always fun to see but maybe not as much in the pouring rain. So because of the rain and because we didn't see it last time in town, we went a couple miles over to tour the underground lode mine at Consolidated Mine. In its heyday it was the largest (22 feet wide) gold laced quartz vein ever discovered- anywhere! With the downpour happening outside, torrents of water ran down the path into the mine and rushed below our feet as we descended. It just served to make the exploration more intense and vital. Tiny bats rested upside down on the dry spots on the otherwise wet ceiling as we worked our way downward.They have had a representation here from the time of its origin I am sure. Ore carts, and drills that stopped working a long time ago lined the pathway and spoke of times passed.

At the end of the path down, an air drill, still hooked up and begging for a test run stood ready and waiting. The guide fired it up. The sound of the several second blast showed full well why miners lost their hearing early on in their ususally short careers. We took a turn holding onto the big gun. Talk about a blast from the past. The experience was a great one. We took the tour with Stonewall Gene and Julie, so the company was great too. At the end of the tour we got our little paydirt bags and headed off to the troughs to pan out our golden riches. We skipped the panning lessons under the circumstances. In fact we wound up standing at the troughs helping others recover their gold from the pans full of sand. Chicken Deja Vue! Consolidated gold is fine gold obtained by crushing white quartz, so the gold needs to be separated from what looks like white sand rather than from the customary black sand that placer gold is usually found with. The basics of panning are the same, but there are some nuances that make it a bit different. It was a neat new experience. Daddy like!

Look! Cows, By Cracker!

A winter in Florida that really was a winter in Florida is drawing its last breath as Spring arrives and we make our last "event run" before starting the trek north for the summer months. From our base in Thousand Trails, Clermont, in the Orlando and Kissimmee area, we decided to step back into the days of old Florida, to the days when the state was free range cattle land, when cowhands were cow hunters who cracked whips to drive cattle from the scrub brush of the state to the market run by the Spaniards at Fort Myers. Character actors tell the tale of the Crackers as though time had not progressed to the present. And in the shade and shadows of the giant live oaks draped by Spanish Moss, Old Florida lives again in the time machine that exists in The Cow Camp at Kissimmee State Park. Very enjoyable.

The Easter Chick?

Ever wonder if those of us blogging from Florida this winter were telling the truth about the extreme (for Florida) cold temperatures and bitingly raw winds? Well as March ends and April begins... the weather begins to yield to warmer temperatures and southern comfort is restored to the sunshine state. But the evidence of the cold is still with us. Here in the sandy camp of Thousand Trails, Orlando (actually in Clermont, Florida), the Easter Chicks are not the typical little peeps that you find huddled under a warming lamp in the feed store. Nope. They are the rather large chicks of the Sand Hill Cranes. Why would this be proof of anything? Because the normal reproductive cycle of the cranes usually sees them flying way north before breeding. Flocks by the thousands actually fly from the deep south all the way to Alaska to have their young. That Florida in winter felt anything like early spring in Alaska speaks volumes about the weather this winter. But strange as it may seem, this year at least, Florida is the breeding ground of the Sand Hill Cranes. Yet another piece in the puzzle of Global Cooling?

But while the chicks are not yet ready to take to flight, the hot air balloons are. And a fleet of eight of them (they were low enough that the heat blasts to warm the air inside the balloons seemed to be right outside our open windows) drifted over this morning fairly early, while the morning was still gray and the wind still. I caught a picture of the last of them as it drifted off over the trees on the horizon. It seems that getting out of bed this morning just didn't feel like all that great of an idea. Oh, well!

The Tortoise And The Hair

There is no moral to this story - just in case you thought from the title that you should expect one. Then again, maybe you're sitting there saying, "WOW, he actually spelled it "hair," not hare.

What? You think I can't spell "rabbit"?

So there I was bending over a short warm water hose at the side of the coach, breaking my back, while Marilyn and I gave Abby a bath. It's Saturday! She kept barking- thought it was dogs going by but it just didn't stop...and this is not her normal behavior. The older she gets, the more laid back she gets.

Bath wrapped up, we went to the front of the coach for the fluff dry cycle. That done, I got out the clipper and trimmed up some of that too long HAIR. Now she was looking good but still had that barking thing going on. Only this time we couldn't begin to see what she was barking at. Her look was intently focused across the street in an empty space, a sand lot behind the row of rv slips across the way. Marilyn saw something move. I went to investigate and what we found was a gigantic (by Florida terms) tortoise. 15 inches or more in length with a high shell that looked almost armor plated. I went to get the camera but what I thought would be a slow tortoise turned out to run faster than a hare, and down the hole he went. Later near evening he stuck his head out and I circled around behind him and quietly advanced to get my picture.

So now, the moral of the story:............oh wait; there isn't one.

City Seafood A Joke

I try my level best never to write anything negative about a business that we encounter along the way. There's so much negativity in the world to begin with that we don't need to create any more. And let me say at the onset that I'm no gourmet diner, nor do I feel special or privileged in any way in life. But Marilyn and I went out for a dinner to celebrate our anniversary tonight. THAT is special to me. We had stone crab claws and a fried oyster basket at City Seafood in Everglades City. The stone crabs were stone cold and the butter was luke warm. We asked to have the claws warmed up and though "we don't do that..." they relented and put them in the microwave for 60 seconds. Big deal. We also had two (plastic cup) glasses of wine. No biggie. I'll drink boxed wine, so again, no special palette at work here. RV Guy! What can I say?

The stone crab platter had about 6 claws on it. Doesn't take long to eat that, so we went back to the window and asked for another 1/2 pound. The time was 6:05 on a Sunday evening.

"I'm sorry we're closed."

What? We just came to dinner.

"We're closed and that's that!

"Right in the middle of dinner service you close?"

"This is what we do to people like you, the greasy waitress said as she slammed the window closed in our face. (Nice style, babe; good people skills for sure)

So there was not another 60 seconds worth of crab claws at 20 bucks a pound, and there was not another fine plastic of Merlot by the side of the river. Dinner was done. Celebration was over. Go home! We're done!

If I ever had such a bad experience dining out I don't remember it. If I can stop one other person from going here for a festive evening I'm happy reporting this. It literally would have taken 60 seconds to get us what we wanted and we could have been OK with things. We were NOT the only diners who wished to add to their meal and were refused. And the tone of the refusal was down right ugly. Stopping service in the middle of service is just downright stupid. Having been in retail and sales most of our lives we know a business lives and dies on its service. Businesses are hurting not so much because of the economy but because they don't give a care for their customers. That ALWAYS comes back to haunt you in the end!

City Seafood: kiss your claws good-bye!

The Long And The Short Of It

If you looked at all the alligator shots in the last several posts, the fish in this post is gonna look familiar to you. No. It's not an alligator. It's an alligator Gar. A throwback to the dinosaur age like the reptiles that also inhabit the Glades. Fascinating to look at. Some might say "ugly." But we came across a roadside pool that had thousands of them schooling in much the same fashion as minnows might do. We caught (and released) a boatload of them (but without the boat). Why? Well the story goes that the recipe for cooking gar is as follows: Bake the fish on a cedar plank in the oven for three hours having seasoned it to taste before baking. When it's cooked, take it out of the oven, remove the fish and throw it away...then eat the plank, because it is considerably tastier and easier to eat then the fish is!

We were actually in the glades again this time looking to catch Oscars. Yes. It is the same as the aquarium fish by the same name. Your pet shop probably got them from the Everglades too. Sure, they make good (and big) aquarium fish, but they are mighty tasty too. In the pet shop, 15 bucks a piece. Out here, only the price of a dozen worms or so. But there were none to be found at the first stop so up the road we went to try another of the many bridges where the sheet flow of the glades passes under the roadway and back into the grasslands on the other side of the road. At first no bites. Then it started. But only small fish- sun fish and bass. Throw them back. All of a sudden, Marilyn's bobber went under and she set the hook. This one was not so little. After an awesome display of fighting skill on the part of the fish (ah, I mean Marilyn) I pulled the big guy up on the bank for her. Nearly 26 inches in length (long) and I'm guessing between 5 and 6 pounds, the Bowfin was an unusual catch for us (a first for either) and we had to get out the Florida Game Fish book for the ID. It didn't match the color patterns of the illustration exactly, but the fin positioning left no doubt. Turns out it has both gills and fins and can breathe even out of the water but we returned it to its pool without undue delay. A day later now, Marilyn is still bragging on her big fish and asking when we can get back out there and catch some more. Beginners luck has always been more important than skill---or so I am telling myself in consolation. And I could probably make that work for me had I not been the one to catch the shortest (and I do mean shortest) catch of the day right before we decided we needed to head back to the rig. Watch for the last shot in the slide show. Humiliating, but document-able! Oh, and no Oscars on this day.