Miles and Miles of Miles and Miles

Monday was one of those serendipitous days full of out-of-the way adventures, most of them related to shopping. Not in my wildest dreams would I have imagined a quilt shop that served wine.

First, though, we had to leave Marshall, Texas. Before we could get out of the parking lot of the EconoLodge, we spied our first shopping mecca. It was Texas Gates, just across the street. With its wrought-iron gates, fire pits, Texas stars, cedar swings and metal replicas of bluebonnets, it called to us like the voice of sirens. Or maybe the yodel of singing cowboys. So instead of getting back on the interstate, we whipped across the street to take a gander. Believe it or not, we got out without spending a dime.

After a few short miles on I-20 West, we finally hit the backroads at Longview. We took U.S. Highway 80 West via the 281 Loop. We passed a veterinary sign proclaiming the Best Little Hound House in Texas, metal-work shops with gaily-painted roosters, and rusty oil derricks, many of them pumping away. Wisteria hung from roadside trees and the redbuds were in bloom, right alongside dilapidated houses with yards piled
with old cars and other assorted junk. Many businesses and homeowners displayed their pride in their state by flying the Texas flag or sporting a Texas star on a wall. We passed a sign for a washateria, a word Ethyl hasn't seen in years, and one that said, "Jesus welcomes you to Hawkins." When I spotted a sign in Gladewater pointing to an antique district, Ethyl had to hold onto the steering wheel to keep me from making a detour.

We were bound for Mineola, where she wanted to visit a quilt shop called Stitchin' Heaven. She had joined its block-of-the-month club after discovering the shop on the internet, and wanted to see it in person. As soon as she opened the front door, a friendly sales clerk welcomed her and offered to give her a tour. There were thousands of bolts of beautiful fabric, and just about that many quilt and runner kits and notions. Ethyl spent almost $200 there, most of it using a gift card, while I managed to get away for $12. I bought a pattern for a boot-shaped wine bottle tote and a magnetic book marker.

The most fascinating aspect of the store to me, however, was its beverage center. I wanted a cup of coffee, but a small sign said bottled water, soda and a glass of wine were available. Betcha can't guess what I had! Actually, I only had a few sips of the white zin, which came pre-packaged in a small plastic "glass," then capped it to save for dinner. After all, I was driving.

Here's to quilt shops!

We spent more than an hour in the quilt shop, then headed up U.S. 69 North toward Denison. I have two NFPW (media organization) buddies there that I had planned to visit. We managed to get as far as Emory before spotting a batch of windmills at the Potts Feed Store. They looked like a field of exotic flowers fluttering in the wind. They were pricey, ranging from $269 for the shortest to $500 for the largest. I could have gotten just the windmill section and hired my handyman to build the wooden tower, but wasn't sure where to get a pattern. However, I understand you can find windmills all over Texas, so I may get one before leaving the state.

Annette, Kay & Elaine

Once we hit the road again, we passed cows and horses grazing in pastures on ranches with names like The Double R, the CF, the WW Rock and Willow Creek. It was after 2 p.m. by the time we rolled into Denison, where my friend Kay Casey was waiting for us at CJ's Cafe. Even though Ethyl and Lucy had snacked a little bit, we were starved. Kay and I split a bacon and cheese panini, along with a huge piece of Chocolate Heath Bar Cake, which Kay kept insisting was a Health Bar Cake. That name assuaged her guilt.

Although we had hoped to reach Fort Worth by sundown, we decided there was so much to see in Denison that we'd spend the night there and do some moseying around town on Tuesday. We had a mechanical problem to solve first, however. My air conditioner wasn't blowing cool air, so I asked Kay to help me find a reputable mechanic. We wound up at A-A Tire & Auto Sales, where Tony Owens replenished my freon for a fair price and had me on my way in less than half an hour. We went to the Denison Dam to watch the sun set over Texoma Lake, and ventured on into Oklahoma across the dam just because we could. It was Ethyl's first time in the Sooner State.

Tuesday we hope my other NFPW buddy from Denison, Donna Hunt, will join us for lunch. We also plan to see a railroad museum, Dwight D. Eisenhower's birthplace and you'll never guess what else -- another quilt shop.

(Note: I may be switching to WordPress if I keep having trouble posting pictures with this blog on my iPad!!)

"T" for TEXAS

Lucy and Ethel, a..k.a. The Back-Roads Babes, hit the highways again this morning (Sunday) for our third annual Texas or Bust Road Trip. Our excuse, as usual, is the George Strait Team Roping Classic in San Antonio, but we like to leave the interstates and meander a bit going and coming back.

We got off to a late start, and having to go back for my earrings three miles down the road didn't help any. It wasn't a very exciting day, unless you call finding a man in a woman's bathroom exciting. No, he wasn't transgender, he just wasn't paying attention. Annette slipped past him to the stall next door and stayed as quiet as she could until he left. I was entering as he emerged, and he was as surprised as I was. Looking up at the sign over the door, he laughed and shook his head.

That was at the Kewanee 1 Truck Stop in Toomsuba, Mississippi, our first pit and fuel stop. But diesel was $2.89 a gallon there, so we just got 10 gallons. We had brought along a cooler filled with baked chicken, potato salad, cole slaw, water, apple juice, cheese, cherry tomatoes, summer sausage and fruit. We also had a sack full of snacks and some bowls and plastic cutlery.  It was about 2 p.m. by then, and we were starved, so we picnicked in the truck before leaving the truck stop.

About 100 miles later, we saw a sign for diesel at $2.27 at the Clinton exit, so we stopped and filled up the dually. We were six miles down the road before Annette happened to see a sign saying, "I-20 East." We had been gabbing so much we didn't realize we had gotten back on the interstate going the wrong way. We do like to talk.

It started raining shortly after we headed west again, but that didn't slow us down much. We made one more potty stop, and the cashier didn't understand, much less appreciate, my comment about giving her the tail-end of our business. By the time darkness fell, I was getting tired and my back was hurting, so we decided to stop for the night on the eastern side of Shreveport so we would miss the Monday-morning rush-hour traffic. As Bossier City melted into Shreveport, we decided to try to hit Texas before bedding down for the night. After all, the state line was but 19 miles away. About 8 p.m. we made it into Marshall, Texas,  where we dragged our butts and our suitcases into an Econolodge. Dinner was another picnic, but in our room this time.

We hope to have some adventures tomorrow, because we're going to leave I-20 behind at Longview and hit U.S. Highway 69. Then it's own to Mineola and a quilt shop, then Denison to visit some NFPW friends. With luck, we might make it to Fort Worth by tomorrow night.

If I'm not too tired, I'll update this post daily. Maybe I can figure out how to add photos to this blog via my iPad and Blogger. It just doesn't work the same as on my MacBook Pro.

Stay tuned.

Boogie Toes, Part III: Dancing the New Year In

There’s great camaraderie and a blurring of racial and ethnic lines at the dance halls in Southwest Louisiana. Too bad that doesn’t happen on a broader scale.

During our New Year’s Eve Zydeco week, we danced with African-Americans, Caucasians, Creoles, Cajuns, a Mexican, a Frenchman and even an Arab. There were no cliques there. Everybody danced with everybody.

Jean Pritchard displays rice stalks.

We didn’t start the day off dancing on Friday (December 30), though. We visited Conrad Rice Mill in New Iberia, America's oldest working rice mill, established 1912. Some of its machines are almost as old as the mill itself, others date from the 1960s. There are only a  handful of rice mills remaining in LA, the largest being in Crowley, according to tour guide Jean Pritchard, who has been showing visitors around the Conrad mill since 1996. Neither Carol not I could resist buying their Wild Pecan Rice, an all-natural Konriko brand brown rice that contains no wild rice or pecans, at the company store. The smell of it wafting from a small crock pot, combined with its nutty flavor, made it irresistible. 

Our lunch at Duffy’s Diner, on Center Street in New Iberia, introduced us to another delicacy: corn-on-the cob that had been battered and deep-fried.The chicken-and-sausage gumbo was a bit spicy, but tasty and full of meat.

We took a brief detour through Cal’s Western Store, but didn’t buy anything. However, the clerk gave me two George Strait 2007 tour posters when I couldn’t talk him out of the GS life-size cardboard stand-up. After a short rest back at the hotel, we headed for the Blue Dog Cafe nearby. It was far and away the best meal of the week. The seafood wontons appetizer was to die for, and pairing it with their veggie of the day, sautéed squash & onions, made a complete meal for me. The wontons consist of an array of seafood surrounded by Monterrey-jack and parmesan cheeses, fried in a wonton skin and accompanied by a plum sauce for dipping. Their “wonton specialist” comes in once a week and makes 900 wontons in three hours!

My drink was the Blue Dog Martini, a delicious tropical balance of alcohol and sweetness: Grey Goose L’Orange vodka with pineapple juice and a splash of blue curaçao topped off with an orange slice and cherry. However, their bread pudding won’t become a favorite. It was topped with a pecan praline sauce, which we should have noted on the menu. There weren’t any raisins, the sauce was too sweet and we missed the taste of rum often found in these sauces. Their comment card asked us, “How could we better serve you?” We both answered, “Open a rest in Birmingham!”

 Friday night, we danced at La Poussiere again, this time to the music of world-renowned CajunZydeco artist Horace Trahan and the Ossun Express. 

Saturday morning Buck and Johnny’s in Breaux Bridge was serving up Zydeco with its breakfast, but several folks were eating at the hotel and then going to dance. B&J’s replaced Cafe Des Amis, a local tradition that is closed. — temporarily, we hope. A sign in its window said the Cafe would reopen this month (January). 

David and Carol at Vermilionville

We wanted to save our strength for NYE, because we had two places to go that night, so we didn’t dance that morning. We went shopping instead. Both of us wanted new Western boots for dancing, so we hit Cavender’s and Boot Barn. We didn’t find what we wanted, but I managed to spend about $80 on end-of-season clothes at each place. Lunch was in the car in Cavender’s parking lot. We had sandwiches we made from Carol’s leftover rolls and pork loin from dinner the night before at Blue Dog.

Elaine & Dale celebrate NY

After almost a week of nightly dancing, New Year’s Eve seemed like an anti-climax. We had dinner at Randol’s again so we could get in some more Cajun music. We enjoyed dancing again with David Pendergrass of Phoenix, AZ, one of the few dancers that week who, like me, preferred Cajun over Zydeco.  It was raining turtles and alligators outside. We barely got inside before the bottom fell out. The din of the storm was so loud you could barely here the band from the dining room next to the dance floor.

We danced for an hour to the sounds of Lee Benoit, then left for Vermilionville to dance to Geno Delafose and French Rockin’ Boogie. Geno plays a more traditional form of Zydeco that isn’t quite as frenetic as modern versions. One guy described him as “monotonic,” and but each squeeze box only plays in one key. Geno started about 9:30, and I gave out of steam around 11 and sat out the remainder of the dances. But I love his music, so didn’t mind just listening. At midnight, we had champagne, then scurried back to the hotel to pack and sleep. Sunday's drive through the pouring rain was long and arduous, but we made it safe and sound.

Click on the YouTube link below and watch for me at 2:23, waltzing by the stage in my shiny new purple-sequined top and waving to Geno (I'm dancing with guy in white shirt and black cap). Stay tuned a few more seconds (2:30) to see Carol with a man in a red cowboy hat.

BOOGIE TOES, PART TWO: History, Culture and More Zydeco

You just can’t do Lafayette and its surrounding towns in a day or two. Carol and I spent almost a week there, and barely skimmed the surface of an area steeped in a rich, cultural heritage.

Shadows-on-the-Teche

It was primarily a dance trip, but we like to absorb the culture and history of the places we visit. I wrote about our first night and full day, Tuesday and Wednesday, in last week’s post. Thursday, it was on to New Iberia, where we toured an 1834 mansion and a small local history museum before more Zydeco dancing at two locations.

Built for a wealthy sugar planter, Shadows-on-the-Teche was home to four generations before becoming a National Trust Historic Site. Live oaks draped with Spanish moss cast shadows on the house, gardens and Bayou Teche (pronounced Tesh), which its back door faces. It was an interesting tour, but unremarkable.

We had lunch at a local hole-in-the-wall called Bon Creole. Not being in the mood for Cajun food, I opted for a green salad topped with fried chicken. After lunch, we toured the small Bayou Teche museum, where we learned a lot about the history of New Iberia. It was the only Spanish settlement in Louisiana, and its 11 sugar mills produce more sugar than any of Louisiana’s other 21 parishes. The inner portion of the cane is processed for sugar, but the outer bark is re-used as fuel for the sugar refineries. Molasses and brown sugar are extracted in the four-kettle process. Molasses goes to Wisconsin and into animal feeds, according to our guide Catherine Segura, whose last name matches that of one of the original seven families of New Iberia.

Bon Creole Cafe

That night, we danced at the Feed & Seed and at Warehouse 535, both in Lafayette. Four Zydeco bands played to an enthusiastic crowd at the F&S, a rustic setting that actually started life as a warehouse but is now used for all kinds of events. We were supposed to get food at 7 p.m., but it didn’t arrive until 7:45 and we were famished. However, the scrumptious Cajun fare, cooked by locals just outside the back door, made up for the delay. The price made for quite a bargain, too. A small bowl of red beans and rice with a fried-chicken thigh was just $4; a larger bowl was $6. It was the best RB&R I’ve ever tasted, including my own home-cooked version. 

The high-energy music created an electric-charged atmosphere that made for great dancing at this seventh annual tribute to the man who had such a tremendous influence in his field. The bands playing were Dikki Du and The Zydeco Krewe; Double Trouble, a young Zydeco band fronted by twin brothers; The Corey Ledet Zydeco Band; and Jeffery Broussard and The Creole Cowboys, all well-known in these parts.

A highlight of the evening was seeing 85-year-old Zydeco legend Willis Prudhomme join Zydeco Trouble onstage for a song. As accordionist and vocalist, Willis had his own band in 1970, before most on stage tonight were born, as fellow blogger Paul Tamburello Jr. pointed out. (Click on this link to see his dance article:  http://ptatlarge.typepad.com/ptatlarge/2016/12/7th-annual-roy-carrier-tribute-dance.html .) His style was more traditional rhythm & bluesy, with plenty of waltzes, which is the way I prefer my Zydeco. The music used to be slower and the dance steps more subtle, because the dances started in Creole living rooms where folks were elbow-to-elbow. I recall my first trip to SW Louisiana back in the late 1990s, when I danced at several clubs with an elderly African-American gentleman who wore a black cowboy hat and string tie. He steps were so subtle and understated that I had to pay close attention to know when he started.

Nowadays, most of the music is so high-energy you can’t help but break a sweat after two or three dances. I’ve seen local (Birmingham-area) guys with do-rags tucked into their pockets or wrapped around their heads like bandanas. Every dancer seems to have his own individual style, and many of the high-steppers and arm-flingers don’t understand that they need to reign it in when on a crowded dance floor. I can’t count the number of times during this week of dancing that I got hit with an elbow or a woman’s flying hair! The latter feels a lot like getting swatted in the face by a horse’s tail!

We were hungry for some Cajun music, so we left a fun party at the F&S to hear Steve Riley and the Mamou Playboys at Warehouse 535. It was a big disappointment for a Cajun fan. I thought of Riley as a modern Cajun band, but this night he was all bluesy Christmas songs and funky swamp pop. We should have stayed at the F&S, where we were dancing our tootsies off with folks we had come to know. 

The F&S charged $20 for its tribute to Roy Carrier, while other venues were only $15 that week. We had heard that the extra money would go toward reopening the OffShore Lounge in Lawtell. Dance organizer Dick Brainard says that was the original premise seven years ago, but it’s a lost cause now, because that venue is in such terrible shape. The tribute is what it is — a nod to the man who started the Offshore and used it to help up-and-coming musicians learn their craft by allowing them to play with the pros. There are no extra monies anyway. Even though Dikki Du (a.k.a Troy Carrier, Roy’s son, who uses his childhood nickname as his professional moniker) plays for free, others have to be paid, along with the sound man and the Warehouse owners. Brainard has had to kick in extra money in years past to meet expenses. I just wish we hadn’t left the place early, because we wasted $15 at the Warehouse 535.  

My hat is off to Brainard and Troy Carrier, alias Dikki Du, for planning this annual event.

I promised I'd give you a peek of my own dancing style. If interested, click on the arrow in the dance photo. It takes you to John Moran's YouTube channel. Look for me about 5:37 into the video. I’m toward the right, in the background, dancing with a man in a black shirt and white pants. Enjoy!

Boogie Toes, Part One: Swamps, Zydeco and Local Liqueurs

If you haven’t danced in two years, it takes a few beats to get your rhythm back.

I learned that early during my New Year’s Eve week in and around Lafayette, Louisiana. “Laissez les bon temps rouler" (Let the good times role), as they say in Cajun country, and my friend Carol Stern and I did just that.

We went down on a Cajun/Zydeco dancing junket organized by Dick Brainard of Portland, OR. He had arranged at least one dance per night, and there were some daytime options as well. We danced with people from Virginia, North Carolina, Minnesota, Wisconsin, Florida, Texas, Arizona, California, Oregon and Washington state, all there because of Brainard’s email blasts.   A few locals showed up, too, along with a guy from France. The Frenchman’s English was so limited I couldn’t determine whether he lived in Lafayette or was just visiting.

Carol on our swamp tour

We arrived by car Tuesday night, December 27, and had dinner at Randol’s, a Lafayette restaurant with a dance floor. The Cajun Ramblers were playing, and we met and danced with Dale and Rudy of Minnesota, among others. It was a good way to start the week, because it helped us exercise our boogie toes before hitting the Zydeco circuit. Cajun music has a Country flavor, so it’s slower and easier to dance to than the high-energy, eight-count Zydeco. “I haven’t danced in a couple of years,” I told Dale, as we two-stepped around the room on the wooden floor. I was embarrassed, but quickly recovered.

Wednesday Carol and I spent two hours on Lake Martin in a crawfish skiff with Cajun Country Swamp Tours (cajuncountryswamptours.com) in Breaux Bridge. Our guide, Bob Gary, made the swamp come alive with commentary on the feathered, finned and corrugated creatures that live there. We spotted alligators hugging logs as they soaked up the warmth of the day, and learned that they don’t eat from fall to spring. Catfish, gar, white perch and large-mouth bass swam beneath us.

Hugging or humping? 

Turtles climbed up on logs and stretched their necks, while a great blue heron with a five-and-a-half-foot wing span glided overhead. Snowy egrets waded along the shallow edges, patiently waiting for dinner to swim by. Egrets eat alligators up to a foot long, swallowing them tail first so the ‘gators won’t eat their way out of the birds’ bellies.

A bald eagle perched in a tree with lunch in his talons, while his first cousin, an osprey, sailed  through the air above him. Pesky cormorants were so numerous we thought we were in a re-make of Alfred Hitchcock’s, “The Birds.” We watched an anhinga (snake bird) flying so low it skimmed the water’s surface. It sometimes has trouble taking off because its belly gets so full, according to Gary. 

Before we left, I could tell the difference between the cypress and tupelo trees — most of the time. The cypress wears a wide, gathered skirt with folds, while the tupelo has a smooth bottom. A cypress tree’s roots plunge as deep as its height above water, and Cypress knees are part of their root systems. With their only enemy being a fungus that eats them from the inside out, they can live hundreds of years.

Bread pudding -- yum!

After the tour, we asked Gary for local restaurant recommendations, and selected Crazy ‘Bout Crawfish Cajun Cafe. I had chicken-and-sausage gumbo. It became a favorite while I was in Louisiana. So did the cafe — we ate there again that night, enjoying a fried seafood platter. That’s when I decided I didn’t like étouffée, but loved alligator. As for desert, the Cafe's bread pudding was divine.

What we really appreciated about the restaurant was that they sold some local liqueurs by the bottle. At least, they told us they were local. Turns out Evangeline’s Praline, an original pecan liqueur by Sazerac, (www.sazerac.com), is distilled and bottled in Maine. “Evangeline’s Pralines is part of our New Orleans heritage brands and was developed by our sensory team at Buffalo Trace to match the unique and rich flavors of New Orleans pralines,”  Amy Preske, public relations and events manager for Sazerac/BuffaloTrace/Barton1792 Distillery/A. Smith Bowman, explained to me in an email. Carol doesn’t care for pralines, but loved the liqueur. Each of us bought a bottle of this sweet, smooth libation. In addition, I bought Satsuma orange liqueur by Bayou Satsuma, which is distilled and bottled by Louisiana Spirits LLC of Lacassine, LA (www.BayouRum.com).

That night, we danced to the music of the Pine Leaf Boys at La Poussiere, a Breaux Bridge dance hall. Wilson Savoy, son of famous Cajun musician Marc Savoy, fronts the band with his button accordion. It seemed unusual to hear electric guitar and drums in a Cajun band, but the instruments helped the Boys infuse their Cajun sound with Rock ’n Roll energy.

You can get an idea of what Cajun/Zydeco dancing is like by clicking on the arrow above.  Lafayette dancer/videographer John Moran posted the video. Most people you’ll see are doing Zydeco dancing to Cajun music, except on the waltzes and two-steps. Those are pure Cajun. You won’t see me in this video, but I’ll have some links in subsequent posts that will show glimpses of my style.

Stay tuned (no pun intended) for Parts II and III.

YouTube Zydeco link

Coffee Shop Conversations

After having my hair cut last week, I went next door for a sandwich at Canoe Creek Coffee. It's a small, family-run place and something Ashville has needed for a while. Judging by the number of cars parked there most of the time, I’d say business is good.

I intended to work on some blogs while there. I’m planning one about another road trip by Lucy and Ethel, one about the perfectionism of my handyman, and a third about some people whose Christian mission work is helping local folks with chores and trips to the doctor. Those will have to wait, though, while I extol the virtues of our new coffee shop.

The owners, Mike and Alison Bailey, wanted a place where friends could meet in a casual atmosphere for coffee and a chat. They have achieved that and more. I ran into three different people I know in the first half hour of munching on my turkey-and- cheddar panini. One man I had written a Discover magazine article about brought his three little girls in for hot chocolate. 

A woman with whom I had been on a mission trip was having coffee and a Danish with her daughter. A friend of hers came in, and it turns out she’s the wife of another guy I’ve written an article on. Meanwhile, a woman who goes to my church came in for eggnog and a box of assorted sweets for a party, took one look at the new lunch menu and decided to have a sandwich. 

Canoe Creek’s paninis are to die for, especially those spread with apple butter. They also serve frappes, smoothies and hot tea. Their pastry menu varies from day to day. Alison might make Cheddar Bacon Scones one day, chocolate muffins the next and cookies the next. On this day, they had put out samples of her Luscious Layer Bars. I know they were trying to sell them, but a couple of the bite-size samples seemed plenty for me. Then I felt guilty about having only samples for dessert, so I just had to get a cup of coffee to assuage my guilt. Okay, I admit it, I also bought a layer bar to go with it.

Listening to the women at the next table, I couldn't help but joining into the conversation. That’s what you do in a small town. I learned about one woman's problems finding a doctor in her insurance provider network, about another who wants to go back to work too soon after surgery, and the travails of a teenager who needs a higher grade on her SAT test to get a college scholarship. Fortunately, none of the conversations were what you'd call, "intimate."

I like doing business with local merchants, and I'd really like to see this place succeed. I’m doing my part, at least.

Wind Creek Weekend

Best view of fall foliage is between ears of a horse.

Normally, I keep my grands over the Thanksgiving holidays. But I wanted to go on a weekend trail ride with Outback Saddle Club at Wind Creek State Park. So I kept my grands the weekend before, packed some Thanksgiving leftovers and my riding gear, loaded Mallory and headed for Alexander City Friday morning.

I had called 10 days before to make reservations, but was told Wind Creek doesn't accept reservations. I'm not sure whether that's true throughout the camp or just the horse area, but it only has 16 spots. "They're nearly empty every weekend," the clerk assured me. "And we have an overflow area, too."

My experience with that "overflow" area hadn't been good. There is no "legal" trail between it and the horse camp, so when I was there in February 2015, someone had to trailer my horses to meet our group at the trail head.

I had a bad feeling about the trip while packing. An email to the club newsletter editor about who was going to be there brought up one couple. Perhaps I would be the only one there. I don't know the trails well enough to ride alone, and besides, it's dangerous to ride without a buddy. But I had put so much effort into getting ready, and I was so psyched up to ride, that I ignored my gut and went anyway.

The two-hour drive was uneventful, but when I went to the Wind Creek Welcome Center to register, I almost came unglued. The equine camp was full! "You can camp in the overflow area," the clerk informed me. "There are two horse people there now." I was furious, argued about why they don't take reservations ("That wouldn't be fair," a ranger said. Huh??), stomped and fumed about getting from one camp to the other via horseback, and started to turn around and go home. The clerk told me to drive through the equine camp and see whether I knew someone I could buddy up with. 

The camp was packed, but the trailer doors were open and empty. Almost everyone was out riding. I found one woman named Lauren Ruark from Georgia who listened to me rant and rave while encouraging me not to leave. Then I found someone who was breaking camp, and claimed her site. Whew!

I’m so grateful to Lauren for talking me out of leaving. It turned into a lovely weekend. I saw only two other campers from Outback, and I didn't really know them. I prevailed upon one guy to "help" put up my picket line, which means he did it for me. Lauren waited until I had set up camp and saddled my horse, then we started a two-hour ride. Half an hour into the ride, we ran across some folks she knew, and joined up. However, the few she knew turned into a group of about 45, which is way too many for my tastes. Saturday, I linked up with a horsewoman I knew and three of her friends, and rode four hours. Sunday, I got in another hour. I was a happy camper.

The weather was perfect, the leaves were gorgeous, and we saw several deer, including a buck with at least six points. The drought had dropped the water line so low on Lake Martin that we were able to ride the "beach" for a while, although I'm not sure whether the park officials would have approved. I snapped a photo of a picnic table that used to be high up the bank. It appeared as if the gnarly roots of an old pine tree were the only thing keeping it from sliding down the bank.

What could have been a misadventure turned out great, thanks to some horsey friends old and new.