Florida panhandle

I have this list of one million and three things I need to do before I die. This weekend I crossed one of those things OFF my list. Been there - did that - never want to do that again!
It's not a paper and pencil list, it's a head list. I keep it inside my brain - that could be why I have CRS.

So this weekend I got to cross off 'camping in Florida during the summer'. HOT, does not even describe the weekend. On the beach I was expecting a breeze but all we got was the hazmat people scooping up oil on the beautiful white sandy beaches on the panhandle.

The Florida panhandle has also been referred to as the Redneck Riviera. Oh boy is that statement true. Confederate flags all over the place - scary.

I also added to my list another destination in Florida. Seaside, Florida is a planned community and they planned it wonderfully. It is most likely one of the most friendliest places I have been except a car dealership. On the negative side it was a little like the Stepford Wives.

I saw an entire family, mom, dad and four boys dressed in khaki shorts and a cream colored top. Interesting!

Anyhow - no more Florida camping during the summer months. Even with air condition in the camper. Just tooooo hot. I bet I would have felt differently in a sweet condo in Seaside w/pool for only a thousand bucks a day. Although staying at a luxury condo with a pool and a pool boy is no where near the term CAMPING. That's why Seaside is my number 6,355 on my way to one million and three.

Howl at the Moon

I went camping last weekend with my brother in the Withlacoochee State Forest. It was a rather remote area but they did have flush toilets and hot water showers. And as it should be it was in the middle of a forest. A dark and dense spooky forest along Silver Lake.

Another camper had an unruly barking dog. Not at all like our big boy who behaved quite well. Ron did not even bark one time which makes me so proud. At home his barking does get a little out of control. He has the 'bark at falling leaves syndrome' and anything else that moves near our yard. But I do feel safe and secure with the big guy roaming our fenced in back yard.

Hubby was feeling somewhat evil on our camping excursion so he constantly walked by the camp site with the barking dog to cause havoc for all the campers. I might add that is the pet owners responsibility to contain their pets and that would include barking.

The dog a very pretty Border Collie barked well into the night after 'lights out'. It annoyed me then I fell asleep for a few hours and woke up (dog barking) in need of using the facilities. They were on the other side of the campground and it was so dark outside and I was in the middle of a forest. I decided to improvise and use the outdoor facilities behind the palmetto bush. Got my business taken care of and drifted off to sleep with the sound of that darn barking dog.

Fast Forward>>>>>>>>>

Tonight I was listening to the local news and a story about the Withlacoochee State Forest caught my attention. A bobcat was wandering the Withlacoochee State Forest, scratched a young boy and bit another person. The rabid bob cat was shot and killed.

So now I'm wondering what was that misbehaving dog barking at? If that rabid bobcat was lurking around the site why didn't the big guy bark his fool head off?

These boots were made for walking

Who in their right state of mind goes hiking in the Withlacoochee State Forest wearing flip flops? Yep, that'd be me. Sometimes my mind is on another planet and doesn't compute what's right and what's so totally bizarre. I've been camping and hiking many times in the woods and mountains and I know all about the critters that slink along the forest floor.

I just think my head must have been on sideways when off I went trekking into the wilds of Florida dressed in my favorite flip-flops. Not only was it not safe but my feet are encased in bog dirt. Trying to remove the grime with the belt sander is not an easy task.

The rain gods must be crazy

In the past few months it has rained once. Once!! My brown grass has shriveled up and run off with the last wind storm. My flowers are just a faded memory. The water police make daily rounds to insure no one is watering their now brown dead lawns.
My umbrella and rain gear have been packed away and I cannot remember where? I have asked the rain god for nourishment in the past but not this weekend.
Today as I searched the Florida skies for white puffy clouds all I saw was darkness.
We have been house bound with illness, company and house work for what seems like forever. Last weekend we planned a camping trip. Oh yeah!!!!! Let the rains begin.
Something to expect just like when the sun rises in the East - when we go camping it rains.

Breaking the rules

I know it was wrong and I should not have done the dirty deed. There were signs posted all around to remind all of us. And it is against the law. At times I enjoy - breaking the rules - and this was one of those times. Well, I didn't enjoy the results of my insubordination.

Breakfast was biscuits and sausage gravy - a southern thing - or so I presume. I never heard of it before I moved below the Mason Dixon line. White creamy gravy filled with greasy sausage poured over hot home made country biscuits drizzled with REAL butter. Clog those arteries. Actually, it's not one of my favorite breakfast meals but hubby salivates when he even smells the aroma.

So I ate to please him, since he was the chef but there was a whole biscuit left. What to do? What to do? It was near impossible to take it back with us or have it cold for lunch. With biscuits it's hot or nutting.

So very nonchalantly and innocently (not soooo innocent) I tossed the biscuit for the raccoon's that wander the campsite. They were lurking somewhere in the woods or raiding another campsite. After the hearty heavy artery clogging breakfast hubby and I went for a stroll around the park.

If you know anything about raccoon's you know how aggressive and selfish they are. They also know it's an all day buffet at the campgrounds. Sneaky little rascals. For them the bread is buttered on both sides.

Did I mention the word - tent - as in nylon tent with food inside? Remember those cute little racoon's I left the biscuit for. Well, apparently that was not enough. With that long sniffer of theirs our food was beckoning them inside our tent. Zippers mean nothing to racoon's. Nylon tears.

Not only did they raid our pantry they were still inside when we returned, Now what? We banged some pans together to frighten them away. No such luck. I heard their snickering raspy voices from inside our tent or what was left of our tent. It sounded like they were arguing over who would get the chocolate covered raisins. To be on the positive side of the moon, we really needed a new tent. That one had only been used twice.

We sat beneath the live oak tree right next to the poison ivy and waited for the rampage to be over. The neighbors in the next campsite stood in disbelief. Disbelief that I would feed those pesky rascals and break the law. No one could really prove I left them little tidbits - outside the tent.

I have no one to blame but my own foolish self for not following the rules.

Silence is Golden

How far does sound travel? Can we recognize a familiar sound when it is not our own? These are just a few questions that have been swirling inside my head. That age old question -'When a tree falls in the woods does anyone hear it?'
Do the sounds inside a tent hit higher on the Richter scale than an actual earthquake? Can those nice people 10 feet from our tent flap hear what's going inside our canvas abode?
I know this may sound disgusting, crude and totally inappropriate but it happens. The passing of gas in a tent at a campground in close proximity to strangers. It wasn't me it was hubby. He's always been full of hot air (LOL) but now it seems to be getting louder and more frequent. And he doesn't even seem to care. He lets it rip at the grocery store, the gas station and at small family gatherings.
I walk away in disgust and pretend I don't know him. Or I will verbally reprimand him right in front of the cashier. We roll our eyes and have that sisterly YAYA understanding.
His latest antics have totally embarrassed me - so bad I had that phobia where you can't leave your home, only I couldn't leave the tent. I couldn't bear to make eye contact with our -oh-so-close tent neighbors. What must they be thinking? OMG!!! They may think it's me. So, now I am stuck hiding from the world in this 4ft tent for the entire weekend.
Then, again maybe it sounded like a bird or a fish splashing. I'm still so embarrassed - I cannot face these unknown strangers who I will never see again. I'm glad I packed my craft supplies for this weekend excursion.
I pull out my trusty glue gun and my silver glitter. I search his duffel bag for a dark colored t-shirt. Ha, I find his favorite. With a steady hand I scroll on the back of his t-shirt - HE FARTS ALOT, and then apply my silver glitter to the hot glue words. I swing it back and forth till it's dry.
"Honey, here's your favorite shirt. Slip it on and we'll walk around the campsite."
Off we go into the wild blue yonder, or a quick walk to the Club House. We stroll around talking to other campers and he doesn't even notice the giggling behind his back. My phobia has seemed to disappear.

Dry Camping

I love to travel and explore my world and engage in new experiences. There are a few problems with this scenario - such as - never enough money to splurge with and that thing called going to work everyday. Working for a living really puts a crimp on my lifestyle. So I depend on friends and relatives helping me make my dreams come true: seeing the world.

This past December - for example - we visited fantastic/decadent Key West. My brother is spending the winter there. Dry camping in a motor home. Let me define - dry camping - for those that have no clue. The bathhouse is a 1/2 mile walk down a bumpy and dark (no lights at night) road. Approximately 300 or more people dry camp here. There are 4 toilets and three showers. Do the MATH.

We are surrounded by water - salt water. Potable water - there is also something called non-potable water and it is beyond the bathroom facilities down that bumpy dark (no lights at night) road. The non-potable water sign scares me. It makes me feel like the water has the plague and it is used for your holding tank in the RV. You know WHAT goes in the holding tank. So the water and bath facilities were a minor issue.

Dry camping also means - no electric. Translated that means the fans or the air conditioner does not work. Do you have any idea how small some windows are in campers? Picture this - two small windows in an RV in Key West topping 90+ degrees. The wind - gone South for the winter. Stifling is not a strong enough word. The slop pot - pungent.

My brother was kind enough to let us sleep on the pull out couch. That metal bar that is used to support the bed and mattress has been forever imprinted on my backside. Oh and those very small windows - screen less. The combination of tropics, heat and screen less windows means ONE thing. Mosquito's! FYI - there is a huge mound of sand right by the men's bathroom door. Don't stand there. Florida is a proud producer of fire ants.

In the end the price was right for me and I have many memorable memories and scars to remind me of paradise.