where i'm at

Duck Dynasty throw pillows in the discount catalogue shop.

The taxidermy wing (not open to the public)
The Bass Pro Shop hq is another world, with kids sighting down crossbows at you and an NRA museum, RVs and boat trailers parked in the acres of parking lots and racks upon racks of camo. Here is a link.
   Yes, folks,  this is a different America than the one I or the majority of Americans spend most of our time in and it goes a long way towards explaining the situation in Congress. It doesn't do to forget that it exists.


the amish have an english breakfast

Near Seymour, Mo.

Everybody's got a uniform.
And they were all inside with their caps and hats and beards chowing down on MickieD. Apparently the Amish love the place. Maybe they're Americans after all.


o beautiful

The long road home
The weather is perfect, the river is perfect, the Goose is perfect. Only thing is, I have work to do. So will hope to satisfy the readership with this picture.


backwoods barbie

Big Girl

She bills herself a hillbilly (should that be hillbillie?) and Backwoods Barbie. Missy, 29, says she has hundreds of kerchiefs and overalls for all seasons. She loves animals, good food, margaritas and ink. She's got a zipper tattoo over the scar on her leg and something (pistons? screwdrivers? haven't seen) on her thighs. She has bear paws on her breasts, put there because an ex with huge hands still couldn't engulf her big girls. "You'd need bear paws," she said. So she inked 'em.
   Sorry, boys, keep your paws off: She's taken.


floating bigtime

Someone wound up up shit creek without a paddle. Or a cooler. Or a shoe. Or a hat. Or a wedding ring. A John-boat rescue was involved. Someone else floated the Eleven Point for three hours and five miles sharing the kayak with a water snake. It was discovered by the terrified outfitter at Turner Mill when the water was dumped out. But other than those two moments of excitement, the float was quiet and beautiful.
Wild river indeed.


the last ride

Denise takes the wheel
I no longer have an old truck and a new truck. I only have a truck. Yes, I was sad. I believe there are many more years in the old F-150. But Denise needed a truck, and I don't need two. Her old truck had a blown head gasket and, alas, croaked on the way to the junkyard, where she was planning to sell it. But my old truck is her new truck, and it's gone to a good home where it will hopefully live a long and happy life on the farm.


beautifying the goose

Note new pots. Crepe myrtle not visible—or blooming either.

New pot with maypop vine.
The hope is that the crepe myrtle will frame the pillars and the maypop vine will grow up the pillars. We shall see. The crepe myrtle planted last year has been disappointing but is still alive.
Now if I could just find someone to mow the freaking lawn. . .



Near Black Rock, Arkansas

What on earth were these people thinking when they named their chain of gas stations?
In other news, the shakedown run went well, and the new ride is back at the Goose.


The new ride

Certain people have criticized the new truck for being a city slickers' truck. I suppose that is a just critique, as I was indeed hoping it would be easier to park than my last truck. And, yes, the bed is small.
However, there is room for the garbage cans, the bales of Bounty, and for the potting soil and giant pots currently catching a ride, so thus far it meets my needs.
Also it has AC and automatic shift. I must be getting old.

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the yard

Airstream in the yard

OK, just spent $10,000 more on a silver Toyota pickup than I spent to buy the Goose and its yard. I'm fainting. Don't call me.



Older bro: Having a problem with his Christian brothers and sisters in Missouri

Younger bro: The newest addition was thought to be a piece of paper on the roadside.
Went to dinner with the neighbors and their four dogs! They showed me their rooms. Very fun. More later. Things have gotten a little nutz here.



 And the livin' is easy. . . especially when Kate does the cooking!


they're from texas

The Airstream joins the soon to be ex-truck in the yard of the Goose
Kate does her hell yeah y'all Texas thing

That would be one Texan, two Ozarkers or maybe three

They rolled in like a silver storm, bearing figs and smoked brisket, talk and out-of-state tags. Lo Lady Kate and Dennis (far left) fraternized with the locals at an Entertainment amidst the mosquitoes and chiggers. The tiki torches, sadly, have seen better days and might have to join the free pile. Well, they would if anything on the free pile was left. Someone swooped in yesterday and scooped up the lot.


there goes the neighborhood

Many of you have asked for Bear sightings. They have been few—he appears to be living in the woods as he often does in summer. And who could blame him? Despite natural air, the house across the street looks to be pretty hot in the summer. The two vehicles are his old rides, but at least the Nissan is out of my yard, and he's off-loaded the restored two-tone Chevy pickup. He's driving some kind of old maroon car now.
    He won't speak to me. He said, "I told you when I give back your keys—I'm done."
    All or nothing with Bear. Either over for dinner every day or MIA.
    The rest of the neighborhood is pretty vacant as well. The house next door to Bear's was razed a few years ago. The Shady Lane church has been on the market for a couple. The cafe across the street shut down in October. The beer store is long gone. My next door neighbors have moved a few houses away. They are some of the few people with kids here.
   Rural America is emptying out, folks, except for the second back-to-the-land movement.


mighty mississippi

I like rivers. I like big famous rivers the best—the Amazon, the Yangtze—but I like the Mississippi best of all. I'm always trying to take its picture. But with, in this case, a large semi headed at me on a narrow two-lane bridge, I couldn't. Mostly the pictures aren't that good anyway—some trusses, some water far below. But still. The Mississippi.


going to the y

Going to the Y means something different here in Thomasville.

The Y is where the road to Thomasville meets the main road at the top of a hill. You will often see folks parked up there on their phones, because down in the town, in the Eleven Point River valley, there is little reception, and none for AT&T. Which I have. However if you need to reach me you now can as, a week late, my land line (same number as last year, one benefit of a dying town) has been hooked up and my Internet is sterling. I can play Words With Friends again! Read the Times! Talk to my grandkids on Face Time! Huzzah!

Location: Tville


The open road

Fifteen hours of driving. Stopped in Beaver Dam, Ky.

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put yr kidz in a box

Stuff to mention.
Johnny has 2 weeks in July available on Block Island. Check this link.
If in NYC, there's Daughter of Bad Girls  gallery show. Jessica Rath's are the red, um, lingums or whatever.
And in the Art department note Chien-Chi Chang's gallery show in the south of France.
On Block island, a lovely blog post about Edie's garden.
A BI beach won kudos from Yankee Magazine as one of the 10 best.
Also, your correspondent will be headed  out to the Ozarks manana. Word is the place is dry. 
I mean, no floods. The water is turned on. Missing the grandbabies already


gun control

Did you know that movie extras take classes in how to handle guns realistically? Me neither. But our own Catherine took such a class. Appropriately, the class took place in Georgia, where approximately everybody is packing weapons and they have just enacted the most liberal carry laws in the nation, allowing guns in bars, schools and airports—to the point that the police are frightened.
    "I couldn't really follow the teacher's instructions," Catherine said. "So I just stopped listening and did what felt right."
   Apparently, like many Georgians, she didn't need much instruction. In frustration, the instructor finally said, "Well, if you need any more tips just copy Catherine. She's a natural!"