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There is a phenomenon in Pennsylvania: Gnome Homes and Gardens.
Most RV parks in Pennsylvania are closed for the winter, November through April. May through October is known as “the season”. Much like the RVing snowbirds who flock to the southern states for the winter, northeast locals flock to a nearby RV park for the season. The difference between them and the winter snowbirds is that most of them have a stick-and-brick within several hours’ drive. Many only come out to their RV on the weekends during the season.
They keep their RV in one of the few RV parks over the winter, often paying the monthly rate but never going to visit it. The RV is usually covered and shuttered for the winter.
But come mid-April or May, everyone flocks to their RV. They unwrap the RVs, gazebos go up, TVs come outside, fountains go on, flowers are planted, and gnomes invade the park.
Yes, I said gnomes.
Godzilla eats the gnomes.
Along with the gnomes, goes every possible item one could put in a yard. Most of these yards have a variety of lights to rival Christmas. In fact, the decorating style is “everything but the kitchen sink, with gnomes”…. But, wait! There’s more…
Leaving Brooklyn Fugheddaboudit
This is the sign you see as you are leaving Brooklyn, New York. I can now officially add New York to the list of states in which I’ve set foot.
Additionally, for the first time since I was two years old, I set foot in New Jersey, the state where I was born. I plan to go back to both just to do touristy things before leaving Pennsylvania.
What brought me to New York and New Jersey, you ask? A chauffeured limousine. Lest you think I’ve won the lottery or married a wealthy man, I should tell you I was the chauffeur.
Yes, folks, this is an episode of Jobs I’ve Had, as well as another of Tales From the RV Park.
To remind you where I last left off: But, wait! There’s more…
Cue Marvin Gaye’s Let’s Get It On (listen while you read this… It’ll get you in the mood.)
I made it to the horny towns of Pennsylvania Dutch Country! Another one to check off the Bucket List!
Pennsylvania is beautiful! One of the prettiest states when it comes to rolling green hills of the countryside. It’s no wonder they use photos of the farms and silos for puzzle pictures. I was in Dutch Country for a few days… and I fell in love with the place! The folks are very friendly, and the towns clean – in looks, if not in name.
I always thought the Amish were on the conservative side, until I learned they sure do like to like kinky names for their towns. Let’s take a tour – with our date – through…
Horny (in) Pennsylvania: Bird-in-Hand, Intercourse, Paradise, Fertility, Virginville, Blue Ball.
Bird-in-Hand, Pennsylvania… It’s more than just a hot date…
Bird-in-Hand is where you start… But, wait! There’s more…
He was driving her buggy.
Dang, I’m funny.
For as conservative as they seem, the Amish do have a healthy sense of humor. Around Pennsylvania Amish Country – with provocatively named towns like Intercourse and Blue Ball (post coming soon, no pun intended) – are giant Amish statues, with bare feet. One has a name: Big Amos. I don’t know if he’s famous. *rim shot* I’m on a roll.
This is Big Amos, the giant barefoot Amish statue. He’s seen standing next to regular buggy, at the Hershey Farm Restaurant & Inn, in Strasburg, PA.
Big Amos, barefoot Amish giant statue.
Does it look like he’s got nail polish on his toenails? I didn’t notice at the time, but it looks like a French pedicure. But, wait! There’s more…
The horse isn’t supposed to look at us.
In a post about clichés on Writersdigest.com, in a comment by G-Girl2 I found this clever poem…
You have half a mind to give me a piece
of your mind, but you’d better beware—
what you’re giving away freely to others
is something you really can’t spare.
You’ve given your all, put your back into it;
you’ve given it the old college try.
I’d love to help you brainstorm,
but I’ve other fish to fry.
So just hold your horses, get off your high horse,
Then get on the horse once more.
Tired of horses yet? No? Well okay,
I can still think of three or four.
I eat like a horse, and with little remorse,
I beat them when they’re dead.
I have to pee like a Russian racehorse
(but that’s prob’ly better left unsaid).
I’ll hitch to the one that is winning,
and look in its mouth of course.
You’ll be glad to know, it’s the end of the flow;
I need to see a man about a horse.
You all know how I love But, wait! There’s more…