Well. Wasn't that Special?

[Remember the church lady on SNL? I never liked the humor because it often bordered on blasphemy but unfortunately, yesterday’s antics made that question of hers come to mind. The following story explains why.]
It was necessary that I go across the border again. Wal Mart beckoned to me. On previous trips across the border, I have seen a sign stating that there was a campground with lake, cabins, a beach and such. It made me curious as the family had always stayed in State Park campgrounds for vacations. I wanted to compare Florida’s State campground facilities when I made my trip to Boca Raton, Florida. That was primitive camping though as costs had to be cut to a minimum and it costs little to stay in State Parks.
The folk that live in this area give very strange directions. Being famous for getting lost in my one room cabin, it is very hard for me to reach where I need to be based on the directions I am given. Go down here a little ways, turn at the light, follow that road on around the river and cross the river again, it is not that far and so on and so on. I ALWAYS get lost. For one thing, they seem to take offense at my asking them to wait until I have pen and paper to write these directions down so that I could ensure arriving where I needed to be and not lost. I do map quest searches but very often there places are not on the map.
It was early morning when I set out to the store and fairly early when I came back deciding on this trip to note the directions on the campground sign so that I might go check this place out. But the ONLY directions on the sign were to take a right at the bridge and go 5 miles. The only bridge I was aware of I was familiar with because it is so shaky that buses, trucks and large vehicles are supposed to cross it one at a time. But there was no recollection of a road to turn at the bridge so I prepared myself to look closely—no road; then after crossing the bridge, I knew there was a small strip mall. That left only one road to turn onto and that looked like the average neighborhood drive.
With no other choice in sight, I made the turn which I really hoped would not end up where I am now, which is at my computer writing about my latest adventure.
Here goes everybody. I hope this continues to be some of my comedic writing that everyone seems to enjoy as opposed to my more serious work:
I know, I know, I know that with my troubles getting lost, I should have set the trip meter on my odometer but thought with my ‘direction challenged’ brain, what could be harder than to follow this road for a while to see what turned up. Not soon after, the neighborhood look changed into something in which I expected to hear banjos playing—you know? The movie with the dueling banjos? But as is so common around here, the scenery is worth the drive even though I had hoped to have a really short trip across the border, back home to Mo and possibly work outside the rest of the day.
Again, there are no words I can find to describe the absolutely gorgeous area I am living in and around and what I saw here was no different. Now this is where I got into trouble. I was supposed to be looking for a lake with cabins and such. I WAS looking but not as hard for that as I was looking at the scenery and savoring what God gave us to enjoy in our time here on earth. Soon the stream running next to the road turned into a river with some rapids which of course, set my mind to thinking how much fun that would be tubing, canoeing, rafting and just floating down. I do not know how rapids are measured but to my uneducated eyes, these did not look like anything but to have fun with. Soon they were gone and the swiftly flowing river was back. But there were more rapids later so of course these rapids diverted my attention from what it should have been focused upon.
Excitement was growing as I thought the sign said a lake not a river. Did the river supply the lake? Obviously by now you may start to recognize the signs of not paying attention to what was going on in regards to the lake, cabins, and their location. There were no roads to turn off onto when I got to the end of this road. I had spotted the most fantastic structure up on a boulder covered hill resembling a lodge. I was in love now dreaming about sitting in those rocking chairs in the early morning hours before anyone else was up. Sitting there, drinking coffee and enjoying a beautiful view with peace and quiet.
I should mention that I DID notice a building with a huge eagle painted on the outside that indicated that it might be a shooting range. Again, more excitement as I would love to have a safe place to do some target practice and if that was part of the campground, then fantastic. But as I passed that building and got to the END of the road, I had become hopelessly in adoration of the scenery around me when OOPS. Whose field was I going to have to turn around in and were they going to fire warning shots even though I had seen no signs posting ‘Keep Out’? WRONGLY assuming I MUST be at least somewhere close to the Lake Campground, I took the ‘road’ leading up to the ‘what I thought was a lodge’—the destination of my search.
My truck is not 4-wheel drive but so far, we have managed to avoid any embarrassing situations or needed any help getting ‘unstuck’. That is, until this turn I made. If I keep the truck moving, I can avoid awkward ‘stuck’ situations but I made the mistake of stopping out front of this beautiful ‘lodge’ without paying attention to the position of my truck so I could get out because the drive on ahead looked more than a little rough—barely a road at all.
My record of not getting stuck ended and what a place to be in! There was the farm below. I found boards under the deck to help myself get ‘unstuck’ but to no avail. I thought I had moved everything out of my way to have clearance should I be able to do more than spin my tires. Good thing it was not muddy. I was determined—or stubborn—as I am in everything now to independently cure whatever ails me, whatever mistake I make, whatever I have that breaks like my potbellied stove.
The attempts to do anything but spin my wheels hard enough to make them smoke were fruitless. I got more lumber, cleared more items from my hopeful pathway out of this situation and kept making it worse. My hopes were that someone on the farm would come to my aid since a dog had started barking and in the country, country dogs are the first line of defense for their owners. And she did show up first to see who did not belong in her territory.
The owner soon followed his dog to see what was going on because this was NO lodge but his father’s house. His father suffered a stroke recently. People found out he was not in the house and proceeded to loot it. So this man who came up the hill quite firmly in step, also had his weapon drawn. Yep. And a fine pistol it was. He was dressed in a black T-shirt, one of the military, camouflage hats and fatigue pants with military issue boots. The reason I noticed the pants: his drawn pistol was not his only weapon. He had many straps on those fatigue pants holding other weapons. BUT, for the time being my major concern was to request as politely as possible that he NOT shoot me.
Discourse ensued on who I was, where I was, what business I had on his property; how it had been looted; how my spinning wheels indicated to him that I was trying to escape; and that it had not been uncommon for a woman to drive a husband or boyfriend to the house and wait for them to bring out stolen property from the house. Jewel, the dog, did not like me at all—not one bit but she came to my assistance whether she wants to admit it or not since her owner followed. She appeared to be a Shetland collie, a working dog, so I asked if he raised cattle. He responded no more; that now he raises quarter horses.
Explaining to him my reason for being there and telling him about Daddy being Game and Fish and having two older brothers, I would ramble around sometimes but did not cross marked boundary lines. This fine looking gentleman (I KNOW I am not supposed to even raise my eyes around men in case I see someone like this character because of all my bad luck with men. But ladies, he was a hunk!) Weapons, stern and forceful, straight to the point, requesting to see my driver’s license and camping gear—fortunately I do keep my tent behind the seats of the truck. My responses convinced him I was not there to loot.
His question to me was “What did your Daddy teach you about going onto other people’s land?” He answered the question before I could saying it was a good way to get myself shot.
He surveyed the situation and determined I had gotten myself REALLY stuck in my efforts to free myself so he left to get his jeep. While he was gone to get the vehicle to rid himself of me, I cleaned up the area that I had disturbed while trying to free myself. I returned the lumber to the house; moved stones back I had used in the process; moved a burn can and stump back to their original locations; and spread pine straw and other mulch over the places where my tires had torn up the ground. Really wish I could have removed the stump that pulled half my bumper loose but I did not even see it until it was too late. It looks like the bumper can be replaced fairly easily but who knows? I will look at it again later. I really don’t care as long as it is not dragging the ground or might come completely loose on the road.
This handsome—oh, sorry, there is that description I am to avoid regarding men now—but stern man probably about my age informed me of the branch of the military he had been with and the tactical force as well but at the time he told me about his background and how I almost got shot, my attention was focused on that pistol held in ready to shoot me. He clearly impressed me with that information but I was standing stone cold still cautiously eyeing that pistol.
He continued to scold me firmly, letting me know how I HAD passed the campground and that they probably had their gate closed with the Keep Out sign fallen onto the ground or turned where it could not be seen. Fortunately, his jeep with wench did a good job and I followed his instructions completely on which direction to turn my tires when it was time. He also pointed out, again quite sternly, that I still had a very sharp turn to get my truck where it needed to be in order to get back on the road (and he probably wanted to add, away from him).
I asked about what I thought was a shooting range and he confirmed that he owned that as well. I fought the notion to ask if I could come shoot there. Once I had been pulled free, realizing how closely I had come to being shot, I could not stop the tears from trickling down my cheeks which was a further embarrassment. I asked him to please look in my shopping bags. I wanted him to know I had not looted the house. He responded that he was pretty good at profiling people and had determined I was not trying to escape him with all the tires spinning. But from down on his farm, hearing tires spinning made him believe someone WAS trying to get away.
Tired, ankle still hurting and just being a sissy girl, I had a good cry getting home which thankfully was not too far away. But Mo was disgruntled and just wanted out of the cabin after being paid the piece of cheese I owe him when I go off leaving him behind for a while. Yes. You read that right. I have to bribe my dog in order to go places without him.
Another vehicle showed up at my ‘stuck’ location once we were through and parting ways. Whomever was in it followed me for quite a distance, turning off when I suppose they were satisfied this crazy woman from Alabama had disrupted their otherwise quiet day rearing quarter horses. I did see the campground on my way out to the highway but one of their two gates WAS closed and had a sign posted to keep out so they must not be open at present. What I could see holds much promise though and I look forward to getting more information on them somehow. The cabins from a distance looked to be in good shape. The lake is quite large.
It would have been nice after ALL that trouble to get INTO the campground to look at the cabins and find out if river rafting is part of the deal when renting. But having had survived one encounter for the day, and tears streaming down my cheeks, my truck and I headed home to our own little piece of this lovely place we call home now; alive but badly shaken.