It’s Olive here. I am having an anxiety attack in the van at the Delaware Water Gap campground. I had to take my mind off of it and my Mom just opened her computer, so I decided to write the blog tonight. Anyway, I am sitting on her lap and blocking the computer, so I have to be the one to write.

It is raining, thundering and lightening and my parents do not seem the least concerned. I am shaking violently, so if I miss-spell words or get my sentences wrong it is because I am having trouble typing while shaking.

I am not sure why we have had long days in the car, but I am being told it has something to do with home. I have to tell you; my Mom can really pick the places that we stay. The KOA campgrounds are fine with me but no, she has to go off and find the places that “look so charming by the creek, in the woods” as she puts it. Doesn’t she know in West Virginia that creek and woods don’t exactly jive with charming?

Last night we drove into Elkview, WV. I did a google search and this is what they said. “It is a small town on the outskirts of Charleston. It is fairly average for West Virginia which is to say it’s pretty crappy by most standards.” She should have looked that up instead of falling for the description of creek side and wooded with birds singing. We drove down this long dirt road, getting deeper and deeper into the woods, with more and more pot holes until we came to a large dumpster overflowing with garbage. There was a cabin with a guy of questionable appearance, but my Mom, being my mom, rolls down the window to ask him if this is the campground. I decided to start barking to protect her in case he got any ideas.

He pointed to a sign with a number to call, which she did. Next thing I know she tells Dad to go on down the road and look for campsite #7, that is ours. We pull in (mind you there are other trailers there, but some looked to have been camping there since the 70’s.) and she gets out. Does this not sound suspect to you? A long dark, deep in the woods road, rotting garbage, no one to check you in just a voice on the other end of the line. I thought it best to stay in the van, but I am not a free agent in my desires, so the leash goes on and I am out of the van.

For one second, that was it. Suddenly there are a volley of shots from a 22 rifle and I am back in the van. But she isn’t. She is telling me, they are just a gang of kids up the hill taking pot shots at rats or something. Seriously, has she lost her mind? Pot shots at rats, gang of kids, 22 rifles, she has, she definitely has lost it. They slept fine, but me, I had one eye open all night.And this morning we were all alive, the birds were chirping. I think that is the only thing right in the description.

Earlier in the day we went to the Shaker Village at Pleasant Hill, Ky which was beautiful with large maple trees overhanging the main street (now a walkway). The buildings were really beautiful, but of course they would not let me inside. I did hear they had lovely shaker chairs, chests, pegs, brooms and interesting pictures of the people that lived there. At one point there were 500 Shakers in this town. I concluded after hearing the conversation, that these Kentucky Shakers were a bit more liberal because when they were told by the New England Shakers not to drink tea or coffee, they ignored the order. Dad loves the simplicity of their craftsmanship and their ingenuity. Mom just goes along with what Dad wants, but she is such a voyeur because she reads all the stories and then makes up her own stories about these people. She seemed to get a kick out of the woman who said when she died she would be known for her chair. Apparently, everyone had and made their own chair.

Mom did burst my Dad’s bubble when she stated; “You know, the place didn’t look like this in the 1800’s. This beautiful avenue we are walking down with the overhanging maple trees was a main public highway with horse manure, pigs, goats, carriages, mud, and merchants all going back and forth. Then the Confederate soldiers came in droves right down the middle of the street demanding to be feed by the Shakers. Those beautiful maple trees here, had to have been baby stubs just starting to grow.” Boy, how to burst a bubble. So much for the illusion of a nice shady avenue to stroll down while not touching your Shaker brothers. I do recommend this as a great place to stop.

Well friends, it is time to say adieu. I love this blog thing. I might have to have my own blog when I get home. I could tell you my adventures of the best place to hunt squirrels, the dogs that are stuck up and go around in their clicks, the best place to pee, and most of all where to swim. Oh, and a thank you to my Dad for drugging me, I am not shaking quite as hard. And a thank you to my Mom for letting me take over her blog.

Just a couple of picture: