"How's he ever going to make it across"?
Bucky and I watched helplessly as a sleek whitetail, in summer red coat, entered the third lane of oncoming traffic. He, a young buck, had successfully negotiated two lanes and now could see the knee high green grass almost within reach. He stood frozen in the third lane looking at us and those
ahead of us baring down on him. Our trip along Interstate 90 was graced with the beauty of rolling PA hillsides and the peaceful, green calm of the Mohawk River and Erie Canal. Now Ohio spread before us, manicured, non-Amish farmland. I could sense Bucky's sadness as we approached each roadside deer carcass, bloated in the heat. Each dead deer's formally athletic body lay twisted and contorted by the impact with steel. Trucks and cars, the wheeled enemies of wildlife daring to venture out onto the blacktop.
"There's another dead one", Bucky commented.
And, when seeing deer grazing away from the highway, "look at those guys, they love the new grass". There seemed to be no shortage of whitetail deer, dead and alive. This young buck, marooned in lane three, gave a final glance our way, then with determination sprinted to foraging freedom. He was well into the field, with grass touching his belly, before he stopped trotting and lowered his head to graze. My one thought was, "I hope he doesn't make that a habit".
Last night was spent in Indiana at Jellystone Park/Resort, (can you think of a more horrible name?) Any imagery you might be conjuring of the park's appearance is probably accurate, and should
include a huge concrete statue of Yogi Bear! Jellystone surrounded a "lake" about the size of our backyard pond in Ripton. Most of the 900 campsites were occupied by permenant resort residents. There seemed to be an attempt by each trailer owner to outdo their neighbor in the number of plastic garden sculptures and container plantings used in decorating their small lots. On our morning walk, Fisher felt compelled to examine and sniff each garden gnome and in a final show of distain for Jellystone decorating, she peed on an elf!
Bucky decided that the corner Marathon Gas would be our morning coffee stop. I stayed aboard straightening the cabin littered with Fisher hair as she blows her coat across America. Twice, we've had Cruise America RVs pass us, each having a smiling Golden Retriever's head peering from the cabin door window, a clever graphic making one feel that traveling with a dog is a breeze! Why do Goldens always appear to be smiling? Is it that they struggle to breath through their noses and must leave their mouths somewhat open, resulting in a friendly grin? Fisher reminds us of Schultz's Pigpen, accompanying Charlie Brown, engulfed in a swirl of dirt and dust. Hers is a cloud of fine white hair, drifting into the air and covering all that we own. I looked up from my cleaning in time to see Bucky, juggling two large New England Coffees, hurrying across the parking lot. A disheveled, middle aged man followed close behind. Bucky handed me the coffee which I carefully placed in our cab beverage holders, cleared in his absence of the dental floss, used napkins, chapstick and phones. It's interesting how so many incompatible shapes end up teetering awkwardly in these round recepticles. I thought to myself, New England coffee, weird.... but instead voiced, "who was that guy"?
Bucky took a long sip of his coffee, a beverage brewed by Indiana water dripping through New England grounds, resulting in a so so cup of joe.
"Oh him..... I think he's homeless". He went on to say that the "homeless" man had asked if he owned the RV. Bucky replied that he did, to which the man said, "traveling in that must be FUN".
Bucky assured him that it was great fun, leading the stranger to say, "I'd love to see inside it".
This was when I looked up from my cleaning and heard Bucky's parting words, "you should go to an RV show. There you can go inside hundreds of RVs".
And, with that we were off, sipping our Indiana New England coffee, listening to our audio book and sharing our cabin with only one invited guest on our trip across America, Fisher Walter.