I hate glue traps. (I may be living in rural areas, but I am not a cowgirl. I am a Glamper, raised in the highly sheltered confines of the suburban ecosystem.)
In the saga of Kernut vs. Zombie Rat, the bait, rat, and snap trap had all disappeared, but were replaced with a plethora of poos. (Poos left by the rat, not by me… Just thought I should clarify that.)
In light of subsequent events, this saga will henceforth be called Kernut vs. Critters.
I hate glue traps. Have a I mentioned that before? Maybe once or twice?
Shortly after posting Kernut vs. Critters, part 1, I discovered a massive nest built on top of my RV gas tank. It had branches (complete with leaves), sticks, rags, a large drinking straw, a spoon, and a ball of shredded fibers the size of a cantaloupe. In addition, it was littered with a gazillion acorns and acorn shells.
I can only assume the drinking straw and spoon were used for the finer dining experiences.
Life in an RV includes unwanted critters, more so than with a regular home. It’s a fact of RV life… you’re often in or near beautiful, undeveloped areas, the kind of undeveloped areas where most wild critters live. I’m about ten minutes or less from civilization, but still in a fairly undeveloped area. It’s lovely and peaceful and full of everything from deer to mice, and a few mosquitoes.
I began hearing things “go bump in the night” a few weeks ago: a bump on the underside of the RV, a bump in the front. I wondered what critter had enough body mass to make a thud that reverberated through the chassis. And then Pye started sitting in the well of the driver’s seat, where your feet go, staring at the wall that separates the peddles from the engine.
She began sitting there all. night. long. So, I began searching for evidence of what she heard.
I found rodent foot prints all over the engine, some evidence of chewed insulation and wire covering. (Rat 1, Kernut 0)
I got out the mothballs, covered the area with them. I was unable to get the round mothballs to stay put in the vertical engine, and the rat seemed undeterred by the mothballs in its path. (Rat 2, Kernut 0)
(Note: I’m testing a new emailing system. I apologize if you get two versions of this. I also apologize if one of them looks like crap. Don’t unsubscribe – it won’t be like that for long. 🙂 OK, some of you have received the crappy one – a pretty picture, but no post. I’m pretty sure I’ve fixed it now so I will be removing the old list soon. If you didn’t get the pretty picture without text, but you know you are a subscriber – Please let me know! I don’t want to delete the old list if it’s not duplicated.)
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…
Author’s Note: The first part of this post is not funny, at all. In fact, it’s still quite sad for me. But then it gets a bit funny (in a bizarre, dating-sucks way) when I went to Bethany Beach in Delaware, and then it gets hopeful. I have some hilarious (or not) dating escapades to tell you all in the following posts, and a hopeful solution to my screwy dating life. But before I get to that, I have a confession of sorts to make…
It’s a shame you can’t buy common sense like you can buy deodorant.
It’s not really a confession so much as connecting some dots for you all, dots that I haven’t connected for you before. Actually it was one dot. The connection is this One Dot and I dated on and off for the last three and a half years. I’ve written about him a few times, although rather subtly in most cases. He is the one person I wrote about whom (I believe) I never gave a secret name, until now. While a few of you know who he is, and others can connect the dots, I won’t use his name. Instead, I will refer to him as Speck. Because, he’s not even a dot now, he’s just a speck. (This will make more sense when you read what happened.)
Speck transferred for work from Cow-Chicken-Oil Town, Texas, to Pennsylvania Rainforest/Dutch Country about a year and a half ago. At the time, his transferring many states away was the best thing that happened to me, him not being in my life my more.
But, I’m blond, none too bright, and have the tendencies of a lemming. Oooh, look at that perfectly good cliff – I think I’ll throw myself off it for funzies!But, wait! There’s more…
“Gonna bang you like a screen door blowing in a hurricane.”
I laughed so hard when I first heard that!
Do you know how long I had to wait for a good storm so I could use that title? Months. MONTHS, I tell you. (If you recall, during the last big storm in Texas Hill Country I was pleasantly, fortunately, blessedly in another state.)
But this is Texas, so I knew it would only be a matter of time until there was a big storm wherever I was at. Like all things they do big in Texas, storms are at the top of the list. And so is the flooding. Many of you may recall the flooding of two years ago.
Leave it to me to find another RV park with a river that floods. Mind you, I’m on a completely. different. river. this time around. Ya, like that mattered.
This is a series of photos taken at three intervals, over about 20 hours. (Click below to see the photos.)
Texas and Southern US saying, “That dog don’t hunt.” Meaning: This idea or excuse won’t work, this thing doesn’t work correctly. The expression originated in the American South, where dogs are commonly used to hunt. Also put as “that old dog won’t hunt.” It originated in the late 1800s. – according to The Web.
A neighbor with a stick-and-brick (that’s full-time RVer lingo for “house”) went on vacation. He asked me to take care of his chickens and barn kitties. (“Barn kitty” or “barn cat” is country lingo for cats that live outside your country house to help keep down the rodent and snake populations. They’re fed some kibbles, but generally not treated like a revered pet. Sometimes they’re socialized, but not usually allowed inside the main house.)
Actually, my neighbor didn’t care so much about the barn kitties (welcome to the south), but he did care about the chickens (again, welcome to the south). The chickens that don’t lay eggs.
“Do we LOOK like we lay eggs? Yeah, we fooled the guy who bought us, too.”
There are eight hens and one rooster. Eight of them are physically capable of laying eggs. Five of the hens are old enough – over seven months – but they don’t lay eggs. There’s got to be something wrong with them.
I’m not going to bother with the usual disclaimer on this one because this is a rant. It’s also not directly related to the RV park, which has a whole host of weirdness all its own, but is instead a rant about my general experience with the nearby towns. There will be cuss words.
If you are new to this blog, you should probably skip this post for a better one. Any other one. This post isn’t my best first impression. Just saying. I don’t know when I began caring about first impressions. Humh, that’s new. Carry on.
Say NO to haters.
I am ready to leave Deerville, Soberville, and Touristburg. I’m over it, for a couple reasons.
I’ve been teaching a free meditation class in one of the neighboring towns. I’ve done this before. I don’t get paid for it, it’s something I like to do to better my little corner of the world. It’s also fun for me, gives me a chance to meditate with a group, and best of all to hopefully encourage people to meditate daily. I teach different approaches to meditation, ways to easily increase your practice, and share what it’s done for me.
Daily meditation has change my life in ways that were previously unimaginable to me: a sense of inner peace, mental clarity, better health, and the ability to monitor my thoughts – and to choose better ones, etc. Of course I want to share this with people, so I started teaching meditation to others. I have done this for a several years, and it has always been a fun experience.
This is another episode of Tales From the RV Park, stories from the RV parks where I’ve camped. Disclaimer: These stories are fictitious, happened in nightmares, are hearsay, and/or are what others recounted to me. I am part Irish, so there is likely a good deal of exaggeration. The names have been changed to protect the not-so-innocent. There is no relation to persons living, dead, or in jail, even if you think so. In other words, don’t bother trying to sue me. This post is about birds, flowers, and sunsets; it doesn’t need a disclaimer.
Your “learn something new” for today: A group of pelicans is called a pod. The group can also be called a squadron. The title of this post was chosen for no reason other than “A Pod of Pelicans” sounded more catchy than “A Squadron of Pelicans”. Plus, I had recent photos and video of pelicans. So today, pelicans – and a new word. You’re welcome.
A pod of pelicans.
A migrating pod of American White Pelicans landed on the lake a couple evenings ago. (This is the lake where I’m currently parked in the wee town I call Pizzaville.)
American White Pelicans on the lake.
It’s moments like this that make up for the Texas storms. Kinda. The video below shows about two hundred pelicans landing on the lake. But, wait! There’s more…
This is another episode of Tales From the RV Park, stories from the RV parks where I’ve camped. Disclaimer: These stories are fictitious, happened in nightmares, are hearsay, and/or are what others recounted to me. I am part Irish, so there is likely a good deal of exaggeration. The names have been changed to protect the not-so-innocent. There is no relation to persons living, dead, or in jail, even if you think so. In other words, don’t bother trying to sue me.
It’s a shame you can’t buy common sense like you can buy deodorant.
Word of the Day: Farrow. When your pig got poked and is due to have a litter of piglets. The gestation period is generally three months, three weeks, and three days.
The pig is pregnant.
There can be pigs at RV parks. Because this is the country, folks.