We're Armed to the Teeth

This post is prompted by the recent debate over gun control. I suggest that you do not visit or move to Fannin County if the knowledge that there are people around you who are carrying concealed weapons makes you nervous or you believe you are safer in a place where guns are highly regulated.

It probably doesn’t surprise you that the Second Amendment is an article of faith here in the North Georgia hills. In fact some school children around here believe the Second Amendment is one of the Ten Commandments. There are adults who think we should we throw out the commandment against adultery in favor of one that says the right of the people to keep and bear arms shall not be abridged. You have to admit that would kill two birds with one stone.

Local politicians may get confused occasionally about the First Amendment but they have the Second Amendment down pat. As for the general populace, it’s fair to say that God, guns and limited government pretty much defines the prevailing political views of most people around here.

Here are some examples to give you an idea of what I’m talking about.

• At a recent citizens’ law enforcement academy class put on by the Fannin County Sheriff, the Sheriff urged everyone to get a concealed weapons permit and to carry a concealed weapon. That’s my kind of law enforcement officer. 

• For entertainment the men’s group at our church went to a gun range and blasted away at targets one afternoon. We’re also arranging a shooting class for the women of the church. So much for turning the other cheek. 

• This is the only place I know of that has a drug store that sells guns and ammunition. I just wish they would expand the idea to supermarkets, fast food restaurants and ATM machines.

• There is a gun show in Blue Ridge every month.

• During the Georgia primaries I attended a candidate forum. Some candidates for statewide offices and Congress were there. To a man (and a woman) all of them were staunch supporters of the Second Amendment right to keep and bear arms. A couple of them went so far as to suggest there should be no restrictions whatsoever on an individual’s rights to buy and carry weapons of all kinds. Even I thought this was a little (but not a lot) extreme. Then it occurred to me that the forum was sponsored by the Fannin County Tea Party. I imagine that more moderate conservative candidates didn’t bother to attend and that liberal candidates were afraid to attend.

• Rarely does a day goes by when I do not hear the sound of gunshots. Some are far off in the hills, and some are much closer. In that respect it’s a lot like living in Detroit or Chicago from what I hear.

Most folks in these parts have a whole different attitude towards gun ownership and the right to self-defense than many urban dwellers. Around here guns are viewed as protection rather than threats. The average person on the street believes that he or she is safer with a gun than without one and that the proper response to an active shooter situation is to fire back and make the active shooter inactive. You have to admit there is a certain logic to the idea.

It’s fair to assume that in any gathering in these parts there are several people with the means and the ability to return fire if someone is intent on mayhem and destruction. So while it’s not impossible that some nut job or deluded terrorist could pick Fannin County as a place start to start shooting, it’s virtually certain that if it did happen some of the would-be victims would start firing back. Nut jobs and terrorists hate when that happens. There’s a reason why most mass shootings occur in gun-free zones.

(Gun-free zones should be called something else. The idea of a gun-free zone is that no one has a gun in the zone. But that assumes that everyone will respect the rule that no guns are allowed. We know by now that bad guys don’t follow the rules. So the only way to make sure that a gun-free zone is gun free is to have people with guns there to enforce the rule in which case the gun-free zone is not really gun free. If you have a gun-free zone where there is no one with guns to enforce the rules we should call it a helpless victim zone.)

Though I cannot attest to it, I would not be surprised if people in most rural areas in this country have the same attitude toward gun ownership and gun rights as the majority of the people in Fannin County.

The point of this post is not to debate gun control or the Second Amendment. I happen to like weapons and I enjoy shooting. I view with distrust government attempts to limit my right to own guns. And yes, I believe that I am safer owning and carrying a gun than not owning and carrying one. My response to the recent renewed efforts to ban assault-style rifles will be to go out and buy one. I guess in that respect I’m not much different than most people in Fannin County.

If it makes you nervous that there are plenty of people in Fannin County who own guns, carry guns and have attitudes similar to mine then you may want to reconsider moving here or visiting here. That’s the point of this post. Consider it a public service.

Fannin Elections

A couple of posts ago I talked about the upcoming primary election in Fannin county. The election was held a couple of weeks ago, and I’m happy to report that the candidates for the two positions I cared about the most won. Stan Helton beat the incumbent, Bill Simonds, in the race for chairman of the county commission, and Dane Kirby, the incumbent sheriff, beat his challengers.

Because the Democrats in Fannin County did not field a candidate for county commission chairman, Helton will be unopposed in the general election.

Even though Kirby has a Democrat challenger in the general election it’s all but certain that he will be re-elected. Running as a Democrat is an uphill battle in Fannin County. You might as well run as a member of the Communist Party. In fact, I suspect that the Communist Party and the Democrat Party are synonymous in the minds of many Fannin voters. You don’t see a lot of Obama or Hillary stickers on cars around here, and when you do you assume the owner is a misguided visitor from Atlanta or Florida. So unless Kirby molests an underage girl, is caught using a transgender bathroom or announces that he does not believe in God or the Second Amendment, he’s a shoe-in for the general election.

I did some research before I moved here for good and discovered that Fannin County is strongly conservative and Republican. (Romney received 80 percent of the vote in the last Presidential election.) Thus, I was surprised to find there is a small but vocal Democrat Party in Fannin County. I assumed there were a few closet liberals but I did not expect to find people openly admitting and even flaunting their affiliation with the Democrat Party much less openly consorting with others of like persuasion. The real shocker was seeing the Democrat Party float in the annual Fourth of July Parade.

I’m no fan of Democrats, liberals and progressives. I’m convinced they’re leading the country to ruin and damnation. However, even though I do not ascribe to their political beliefs, I have to admit to a certain grudging admiration for anyone who has the gumption to be openly and vocally Democratic in Fannin County. I imagine being an avowed Democrat and Obama supporter in Fannin County is like being the beer distributor at a MADD meeting or a NAMBLA supporter at a Southern Baptist convention.

In most circles in Fannin County if a person were to proudly proclaim that he or she is a Democrat and an Obama supporter the room would suddenly go quiet and everyone would stare at the person like he or she had just announced having a deadly infectious disease. Most Fannin residents would be torn between offering condolences or running like hell to get out of the room.

I find it interesting that I have started to pay attention to local politics. That certainly wasn’t the case when I lived in Pinellas County. Most of the time I didn’t know who was running or what the candidates stood for. Maybe it was because I was busy working so much. It also may have something to do with the fact that there are about 600,000 registered voters in Pinellas or the fact that elected county officials in Pinellas County seemed so remote and unapproachable.

But now that I’m retired and live in a small rural county I feel different about local elections. Obviously, I have more time to pay attention to local issues. Another aspect is that because the candidates with a chance of getting elected are all Republicans the races are not about big differences in political philosophies. That means the focus is on determining which Republican candidate is the most competent and qualified for a particular office.

The truth is that it’s hard not to take an interest in local elections when you live in a county with less than 25,000 inhabitants and only about 15,000 registered voters. The issues and the candidates are more immediate and relevant. Before the election I had the chance to meet and interact with Helton, Simonds, Kirby and his chief rival. I found I was more motivated to take an interest in the election because I had met met and talked to the names on the ballot.

Moreover, I have the feeling, perhaps foolish and idealistic, that my vote actually counts here and that I can genuinely influence my local government. It’s somewhat refreshing actually. Maybe that’s the way a democracy is supposed to work.

I have been asked several times whether I have political aspirations, and my answer is always the same: No way, Jose. I do not have the temperament and skills to be a politician. Besides, as a newcomer and with a last name like Yacavone I don’t think I'd have a snowball’s chance in hell of getting elected even if I did have political aspirations. All successful Fannin candidates have roots in Fannin County going back many generations.

That being said, I have a great interest in the way the county is being run and in assuring that it has open, honest and transparent processes and procedures. I’d willing and eager to do what I can to make sure the county does things in a way that does not expose it to liability. I’d like to see that it follows best practices for local government. Given my background and experience as an attorney, I think I have a lot to contribute to the discussion.

Everyone needs a hobby or two when they retire. It appears that one of my hobbies is going to be trying to improve my local government.

The Bigfoot Museum

Believe it or not, someone has opened a Bigfoot museum in Fannin County. If I sound incredulous, it’s because I find it hard to believe that enough people will visit the place to make it worth the investment.

The museum has been open only a short time, and I admit that I have no idea about the number of people who actually pay money see what’s inside. For all I know, the business is a roaring success. If so, that’s great. I’m all in favor of free enterprise and helping the local economy. I have no problem with sucking every dollar out of tourists who visit these parts.

Maybe my skepticism over the long term prospects of a Bigfoot museum in these parts is due to the fact I’ve been hanging around common sense country folk too long and have forgotten how gullible the average American is, particularly those who have lived all their life in an urban environment. I mean how else can you explain the Democratic voting record of Baltimore, Chicago and Detroit?

At least a small part of my skepticism is due to the fact that this area is not really a hotbed of Bigfoot sightings. According to the website of the Bigfoot Field Researchers Organization (BFRO), there have only been two Bigfoot sightings in Fannin County, and the last one was in 1985. If it was a real Bigfoot back then, it’s probably retired, drawing social security and living in Florida by now.

The only other Bigfoot sighting in Fannin County that I know of is a 2013 video on You Tube. Here’s a link to the video: Fannin Bigfoot. The video pretty clearly shows Uncle Festus in a gorilla suit running through the woods. Apparently even the BFRO had problems with the video since the sighting is not on the list of sightings attributed to Fannin County.

If any Georgia county has the right to a Bigfoot museum it is White County which is located a couple of counties to the right of Fannin County. According to the BFRO there have been 11 Bigfoot sightings in White County. White County is home to Helen, Georgia, which styles itself as Georgia’s alpine village. The town attempts to recreate an alpine village, and it has an annual Octoberfest celebration which I am told is well attended by tourists. A possible explanation for the number of Bigfoot sighting in White County is that it has a lot of bars. According to one posting on Tripadvisor.com: “White County is no longer dry and Helen certainly isn't ha ha. That place is built on alcohol. I think as of right now there are 27 bars in the town.”

I would be curious to see if there is any correlation between Helen’s Octoberfest and the dates of the Bigfoot sightings. City folks out of Atlanta who have consumed a few too many Octoberfest beers very possibly could confuse a furry ground hog for a Bigfoot. Many years ago in El Paso, Texas, after a few drinks at the Officers Club I almost swerved off the road because I thought a tarantula was a small puppy.

Some of the more entrepreneurial readers of this blog are probably thinking that if the Bigfoot museum turns out to be a success it may not be long before someone opens a UFO museum around here. According to Mufonga.com, the website for the Mutual UFO Network of Georgia, there have been quite a few UFO sightings in North Georgia and several in Fannin County.

Even though there have been more UFO sightings than Bigfoot sightings here, I doubt a UFO museum would be successful. First of all, Roswell, New Mexico, has the corner on that market. Second of all, as far as I know, while there have been UFO sightings, there have not been any reports of seeing aliens on the ground unless you’re counting some of the weirdly dressed visitors from Florida. It seems that aliens, like the tourists, visit Fannin County and then leave. And that’s fine with me.

I would think that it would take a few sightings of actual aliens or at least a human abduction or two to make the alien scene here sexy enough to support a UFO museum.

One explanation for the lack of alien visitors to this area is because it’s probably too dangerous for them. The Second Amendment is alive and well in Fannin County. Just the other day I watched an elderly Southern Belle nail a bowling pin with a Barrett .50 caliber sniper rifle at the Sheriff’s Department’s range. That was after she went through most of the law enforcement pistol qualification course with the purse-concealable 38 revolver. She put round after round into a man-sized silhouette target. She really liked the “two to the chest and one to the head” drill.

Nope, folks around here would not put up with little green men. I imagine an encounter between a good old boy (who I will refer to as Dwight) and an alien might go like this.

(Dwight hears a sound in his woodshed late one night and goes to investigate)

Alien: Take me to your leader.

Dwight: What the hell! You scared the crap out of me. What are you doing in my woodshed? Step out so I can see you before I blow your ass away with this shotgun.

Alien: Take me to your leader.

Dwight: Holy shit. You are one ugly motherfucker. Short too. What’s the matter with you?

Alien: Take me to your leader.

Dwight: Man, you got some bug eyes, and what is it with that green skin? You look like a fucking pickle. What are you—some sort of elf?

Alien: Take me to your leader.

Dwight: This isn’t a Geico commercial, is it?

Alien: Take me to your leader.

Dwight: You’re not from around here, are you?

Alien: Take me to your leader.

Dwight: You said that already. Don’t you have any fucking ears? Oh, I guess not. Where are you from?

Alien: I have come from another planet.

Dwight: Another planet my ass. I bet you’re from California. Are you any kin to Tom Cruise?

Alien: I seek to establish relations with your people.

Dwight: Say, you ain’t some kind of pervert, are you? I bet you like to watch cooking shows and wear women’s clothes. Relations? What type of relations?

Alien: I seek peace and harmony among all beings.

Dwight: Now I get it. You’re either a Democrat or from the United Nations. Either way, you’re not going to get very far with that peace and harmony bullshit around here. People in these parts ain’t too big on Democrats and the UN. Now get the fuck off my property.

You can imagine how that encounter is going to end. Dwight will have another trophy to place on his wall, and the alien spacecraft will be one passenger short when it leaves Fannin County. So it looks like a UFO museum is out of the question for Fannin County. Hmm. I wonder what the prospects are for a Chupacabra museum?…

An Early Victory

In the old days of warfare, armies did not fight in the winter but when spring came it was back to the battlefield. My war against garden terrorists is like that. In the winter the bugs, pests and creatures that attack my garden go elsewhere, and I get a break from my battles defending truth, justice, the American way of life and my produce.

But now spring is here now, and my garden is planted and starting to grow. So the war has been renewed, and I need to be on constant alert against all the flying, hopping, leaping, crawling and burrowing creatures—basically, every frigging thing in nature—that wants to freeload on my harvest. To paraphrase a famous adage, eternal vigilance is the price of vegetables.

I am happy to report that the YGDF (Yacavone Garden Defense Forces) have scored an early and significant victory over the garden terrorists. The other night Meredith was standing at the kitchen window, and she spotted a groundhog crawling slowly and stealthily toward the garden. She called Jake, and he dispatched it with a well-aimed .22 round from the kitchen porch.

I know it’s not as exciting and dramatic as Seal Team Six killing Osama bin Laden during a nighttime raid on a fortified compound in Abbottabad. This was much more causal. Jake was wearing flip-flops and shorts, and I was standing in my bare feet whispering encouragement through a screened window while sipping a pre-dinner vodka as it all want down. The only casualty was when I stubbed my toe trying to find my sandals so I could go down and observe the dead groundhog. Even so, killing Osama bin Groundhog this early in the season before he had a chance to fuck with my cabbages is a big deal.

There was much rejoicing and congratulating over the kill. Meredith got kudos for spotting the furry little bastard, Jake got accolades for hitting it from the kitchen porch at about 30 yards, and I got credit for sighting the rifle in so accurately.

The next day Jake skinned the groundhog and reports that it had a lot of meat on the flanks and across the shoulders and chest. I can see us trying to make groundhog stew if we ever shoot another one. Put enough onions, peppers, garlic and hot sauce on anything, and it’s probably edible after a few beers. I’m not sure what his plan is for the groundhog skin. It’s too big to make a furry koozie.

I realize that to some of you this may seem barbaric. But you probably live in a nice deed restricted community surround by thousands of people, and your garden consists of a couple of pots with tomato plants. You may see a raccoon or possum every now and then, but nature mostly stays out of your business.

Things are different here. We have to contend with garden pests that can decimate a crop of cabbages overnight, flying squirrels that chew through wood and nest in your attic, deer that destroy your shrubs and flowers, borer bees that tunnel into your wood siding, wasps and hornets that nest under your steps and bears that dig through your trash and wreck your bird feeders. Around here nature is not something you observe on weekend outings but something that’s in your face every day.

The goal is always peaceful coexistence but it takes two to tango, and if the wildlife is not going to cooperate then more strenuous measures are needed. Just the other evening I spoke with a guy who says he’s shot 81 squirrels over the past few years to protect his bird feeder. That may seem excessive to you but to me it shows that squirrels are abundant, breed easily and favor human wave tactics to get at your stuff. I assure you, there is no threat of squirrel extinction. Two years ago we were overrun with squirrels. Shooting a squirrel in these parts is not like killing the last Dodo or Tasmanian Tiger. It’s more like swatting a fly.

I may complain about wildlife attacking my garden but I hope it stays that way around here.

The population of Fannin County is under 25,000—slightly less than the population of Tarpon Springs, Florida. In the last year or so there been increasing signs that more people are starting to move here. There is new commercial development along the highway, and both the county and the City of Blue Ridge report that applications for building permits have increased. I have plenty of anecdotal evidence that there is a wave of people getting ready to retire to our area.

My great fear is that Fannin County will lose its rural character in the coming years. I remember reading that one of the early American pioneers knew that an area was becoming too settled when he could see the smoke of his neighbor’s chimney. I understand the sentiment completely. In my book the best neighbors are those that are separated from you by a couple of acres, a stand of trees and a barbed wire fence.

And if preserving the rural character of Fannin County means that I have to contend with beasties and pests, so be it.

I've Been Fishing

Jake and Frank Johnson and a big grouper

Yours truly has been a very busy guy the last couple of weeks. Jake graduated from FSU with his master’s degree in finance, and I took the opportunity to go to Tallahassee for four days of fishing in the Gulf of Mexico with him. The fishing was great, and the time with Jake was even better. While I was there my Clearwater buddy, Larry, invited Jake and I to go to the Bahamas with him on his boat to do some fishing. Of course, we accepted. I drove back to Fannin County after fishing with Jake, and four days later turned around and drove to Clearwater, Florida, for the Bahamas trip.

In the mean time, Jake had a job interview at Lockheed-Martin in Orlando. He interviewed in the morning and received a text that afternoon while driving to Clearwater to Larry’s house that he was going to get a job offer. Needless to say, that put him and Meredith and me in a great mood.

I got to Clearwater on Tuesday, the day after Jake’s interview. I don’t do long driving well. I find it incredibly boring, and I start to go to sleep after a few hours on the road. It’s a nine hour trip to Clearwater, and it’s one that I did too many times when we were moving up here. Thanks to two cups of coffee and a large Red Bull I made the trip safely albeit a little wired.

On Wednesday we did last minute shopping and loading of Larry’s boat. On Thursday morning at 3:30 a.m. we departed for West Palm towing the boat. By 8:30 a.m. the boat was in the water, and we had cracked the first beers.

Larry recently repowered his boat with twin 300 horsepower engines. The boat is capable of going over 60 miles an hour. I learned on this trip that it is impossible to drink a beer or eat chicken wings in an open boat going over 40 miles an hour. God knows I tried. It's a three hour boat trip, and I was hungry and thirsty. I arrived at Grand Cay, Bahamas, wearing beer and chicken wings.

Grand Cay is one of the northernmost islands in the Bahamas. It’s small with a population of just under 400 people according to the 2010 Bahamian census. Larry has been going there since he was a young man and may the best known white man on Grand Cay. Jake has been there a number of times with Larry, and is pretty well known himself. The fishing was spectacular, the weather and the seas were great, and the food was phenomenal. The conch fritters are the best I've ever eaten, and they have a dish called cheesy lobster that's too good to believe. We caught plenty of grouper, snapper and triggerfish to bring back to the States, and we didn't run out of beer or booze. What more can you ask for?

We returned to the States and Clearwater on Monday. The next day Jake and I drove to Tallahassee. Jake took care of some last minute things, and on Wednesday we drove to Fannin County. A couple of days later Jake received his formal job offer from Lockheed-Martin, and we learned the Mike has a pass and will visit us this weekend. The garden is growing, and all is good in my world.

That’s probably the last of my traveling for the summer. I was away from the cabin for 10 days in a 15 day period leaving Meredith to handle the garden and the new dog. Now she will get to go to Orlando to visit friends and help Jake find a place to stay and get his new place set up.

Meanwhile, in Fannin County the big news is the election. The two important contested races are for county commission chairman and sheriff.

For commission chairman, I’m voting for the challenger, Stan Helton. I’ve met and talked with him. I think he’s more attuned to present day realities and will help bring Fannin County government into the modern age.

It’s not really a difficult choice. The incumbent commission chairman, Bill Simonds, is a disaster waiting to happen in my opinion. The most recent revelation is that the county’s insurer paid $660,000 to settle age discrimination claims by four county workers that Simonds fired when he first became chairman. I’ve seen the settlement documents, and it’s clear that the insurer paid full value to settle the cases to avoid the risk of taking them to trial. As I understand it, soon after Simonds fired the four workers, all of whom were over 50, he turned around and hired four younger workers. That’s a prima facie case of age discrimination—something any halfway competent county administrator should know.

That’s not Simonds’ first mistake. He’s made a lot of them, and I’ve pointed out some of them in the guest columns I write for one of the local weekly papers.

You would think that Simonds wouldn’t have a chance of getting re-elected but I’m not sure about the politics around here. The big local weekly paper, the News Observer, is nothing more than a shill for the county administration. I think the fact that local government gets to pick the newspaper to be used for legal advertisements has a lot to do with that. It’s a large and steady source of revenue for a rural weekly newspaper.

To give you an example of how slanted the News Observer can be, the headline of the first story the paper ran on the age discrimination settlement said the county was found “not guilty” of age discrimination. That’s misleading to say the least. My concern is that News Observer readers have no clue how bad Simonds really is though I have to say that many people I speak to realize that the News Observer slants its stories. Maybe I’m not giving Fannin County voters enough credit.

The race for Fannin County Sheriff is also interesting. It pits the incumbent, Dane Kirby, against long time Blue Ridge Police Chief, Johnny Searce. Searce’s family has been around here for a while and is well-known and generally well-liked as I understand it.

I’m voting for Kirby. I’m currently taking the Fannin County Sheriff’s Citizens Law Enforcement Academy class (CLEA), and from what I’ve seen, Kirby has introduced policies and procedures at the Sheriff’s department that comply with nationwide best practices for police departments. Having defended quite a few police cases, I think I know a little about the subject, and I’m very impressed with what I’ve learned about the department.

Since I am new to local politics, I don’t know whether competency and good stewardship is enough to get re-elected in Fannin County. It may be that family ties and loyalties are more important. One thing is for sure—all the candidates for all the offices have deep roots in the community. That's clearly a prerequisite if you're going to run for office in these parts. You’re not going to find any candidates that weren’t born and raised in the area. If you've got a last name like Lebowksy, Silverstein, Yacavone or Kunta Kinte, forget about it.

And that’s all I got to say about that.

I've Been Busy

I know it’s been a month since I posted to this blog. There are a couple reasons for that.

One is a lack of inspiration. The original purpose of this blog was to document what it is like to retire to a rural North Georgia county after 37 years working as an attorney in crowded Pinellas County, Florida. I retired and moved to Fannin County in the fall of 2013. I’ve now lived here long enough that what was once unusual is now familiar. This is my new normal, and it’s the rest of the world that is strange and worthy of observation and comment.

The other reason I haven’t written in this blog is because I’ve been busier than hell with the organizations I’ve joined, the class I was taking, getting the garden prepared and planted, a camping trip with the men’s group from my church, a trip to Tallahassee to go fishing with my oldest son, writing columns for one of the local papers, playing bass for this little group I am in and a number of other things that have kept me hopping. If this keeps up I may have to retire from my retirement. Thankfully, it looks like things will start to slow down for the summer.

I’ve said before that one of the secrets of retirement is to stay busy and involved. I would like add a caveat to that: don’t get so busy that you can’t take time to smell the roses. I figure that if you’ve managed to navigate your way through life and work to reach retirement you’ve earned the right to do nothing every now and then.

As noted above, I recently went on the annual camping trip of the men’s group from my church. I am happy to report that I returned safely and in good health from the expedition.

Church group camping trips seem to be something of a tradition around here. Usually it’s the men or the youth groups who go on them. I don’t think the women do camping trips. At least that’s true for the church I go to. Our women go to places like Gatlinburg or Pigeon Forge where they stay in nice places, eat at nice restaurants and visit local attractions. The men, on the other hand, choose to live in tents, sit around a smoky campfire looking at trees, and eat their own cooking. And we think we’re the smarter sex. Ha!

I suppose the purpose of such trips is fellowship and an opportunity to commune with nature. In the case of my church, which is Episcopal or more properly Anglican, it’s also a chance to drink craft beer and good whiskey, eat cholesterol-laden foods, swap stories while sitting around the campfire and do the manly things that men do when they get together in the woods. It’s all very Neanderthal in a quasi-urbane sort of way.

The men’s group at my church is composed of, shall we say, mature individuals. That’s a nice way of saying that we’re old retired guys. It is an interesting group of men. All of them have done something meaningful and accomplished in their lives and have had an abundance of interesting life experiences. As a result, most of them are experienced and proficient bull shitters.

As a side note to the ladies, bull shitting is a predominantly male trait that consists of swapping stories, tales and experiences. It is generally done while consuming alcoholic beverages, and it is mostly truthful though an occasional dramatic embellishment or exaggeration is allowed and, indeed, encouraged. It can be entertaining for the listeners but it can also grow tedious particularly after long hours of it or when the stories start repeating because short term memory is beginning to go. I think it is considered a part of the male bonding ritual by those who study such things. I imagine our primitive ancestors did much the same thing while squatting around the campfire after a hunt.

While experiencing the wonders of nature was one of the objects of the trip, this was not by any means an exercise in primitive camping. This group does not believe in roughing it. There was no sleeping on rocks and foraging for wild foods ala Euell Gibbons. Foraging for the foie gras and premium bourbon is more this group’s style.

Most of the men brought a pickup truck full of gear and supplies to ensure that the outdoor experience was as comfortable as possible. After everyone had unpacked and set up camp, the campsite resembled a Bedouin encampment complete with huge tents, cots, collapsible tables and chairs, multiple coolers with refreshments and other creature comforts. It would not surprise me if a couple of the larger tents had sofas and Persian rugs in them. All that was missing were palm trees, camels and a few pink flamingos in front of the tents.

The campground was located at the end of a long and winding road somewhere in North Carolina in the Nantahala National Forest. There was absolutely no cell phone reception. To get cell phone reception you had to leave the park, drive a mile down the road to a volunteer fire station and stand on the southwest corner of the porch facing north in a crouched position. At least I think those were the instructions.

For what it’s worth, "Nantahala" is a Cherokee word meaning "Land of the Noonday Sun." I have no idea why.

There was a concern the first few nights that bears and raccoons would get into our food so everyone was careful to put their coolers in their vehicles. After the first night I realized there was little chance predatory wildlife would venture anywhere near the camp. The grunts, moans, groans, snores, farts and other unearthly noises that emanated from a dozen mature men sleeping was frightening. A bear or a raccoon would have to possess a large pair of balls to invade that campsite.

The camping trip lasted from Tuesday to Friday. Four days is about the limit. By then all the stories had been told and retold, the food had been consumed, the alcohol was running low and we were getting tired of trekking up the hill to the bathroom to pee at night. The tents and camping gear were disassembled and packed away in our vehicles, and our caravan rolled out wagon train-style back to civilization, our own beds and convenient bathrooms.

A good time was had by all, fellowship had been reestablished and bonding had occurred. Boy, am I glad it only happens once a year.

Of Crop Circles and Lawns

You may recall that we have a new dog here in Yacavone Land. His name is Recon, and he’s a Bull Terrier/Border Collie mix. I know almost nothing about dog breeds. I seem to recall that Border Collies herd sheep, presumably on the border of something, and I believe that Bull Terriers have a reputation for fighting bulls, eating young children and maiming adults.

So far Recon has a great disposition. If he’s got any fault it’s that he likes people too much. Still, with his breeding, I have to wonder whether he might revert to form some day by herding a group of people into a circle and laying waste to them. I’m not sure what made me think about that. Maybe it’s a function of growing older that I have to have something to worry about.

In any event, we’re into early spring here. The spring flowers and shrubs have sprung, the trees are starting to get buds, and the grass is starting to green up. That’s not to say it’s been an easy spring. There has been a pattern of a few warm days followed by a cold snap. It’s driving gardeners nuts.

They even have names around here for the cold snaps. There’s blackberry winter for a cold snap that occurs when blackberries bloom and dogwood winter for one that happens when the dogwoods bloom. We’ve been through those already. In fact, we’re running out of blooming berries to identify the cold snaps. My vote for the next ones are dingleberry winter, crunchberry winter (named after Captain Crunch cereal) and Beriberi winter (named after the disease).

Because the grass is starting to turn green and grow, I couldn’t help but notice that our front lawn—and I’m using the word “lawn” very generously—has developed small crop circles about the size of a saucer. I was pretty excited about it because I thought it meant I was being visited by tiny aliens. Then Meredith explained to me that the circles of brown grass are probably where Recon has peed. Boy, was I disappointed. Tiny aliens are much more interesting that urinating dogs in my book.

It never occurred to me that dog piss has herbicidal qualities. What the hell is that dog peeing? Agent Orange? Muriatic Acid? I now know why people take dogs for walks. It’s so they’ll pee on someone else’s grass.

Truthfully, I’m really not that upset having a polka dotted lawn. It’s not like anyone can see our “lawn.” Our nearest neighbor is a quarter mile away, and his lawn is nothing to get excited about. The truth is that there aren’t that many lawns in Fannin County that you would put in Home and Gardens.

And that’s a good thing. It’s one of the great things about living in Appalachia. Half the people around here don’t even have lawns because they live on mountain tops. They have no real soil to speak of, and they are surrounded by trees that block the sunlight. Their yards consist of rocks, moss and scraggly plants. Don’t knock it. You never have to mow, water or fertilize lichen.

There is another percentage of the local population who let their goats run loose in the front yard and think that a dozen rusting cars and old washing machines constitutes yard art. The only thing needed to compete the picture is a blind albino kid on the porch playing the banjo. A nice lawn is not exactly high on their priority list.

Then there are the retirees who, like me, really don’t give a rat’s ass what their front yard looks like as long as they don’t have to care for it. It’s not like the Pope is going to visit me and be critical of my yard maintenance. Hey, at least I don’t have goats crapping all over the yard. Instead, I have a dog that pees Roundup.

What I’m saying is that most people around here don’t live in neat, orderly subdivisions, and lawns do not have the totem status they have in suburbia. And I would guess that’s the way most people like it around here. It’s probably one of the many reasons why people bail out of suburbia to move here. After all, it’s not hard to keep up with the Joneses when the Joneses don’t want to be in the race. It’s also not hard to keep up with the Joneses when you don’t give a damn.

So while you’re admiring your well-groomed, neatly manicured lawn, I’m going to be sitting in a lawn chair in the weeds (and the strange little crop circles) admiring a wonderful view of the mountains.