Panhandle to the Big Bend - Nowhere Near the End

Well, when you're out having a good time it's hard to remember to blog.  That being said, let me get us a liitle closer to being caught up.  I know it is still a long way but one step is closer so here goes. 

After our good days at the Coldwater Creek Horse Camp and our side trip to Port St. Joe to ride on the beach, we headed west for our next destination, an overnight stay with Ronnie and Ronette Bourgeios in Gulfport, Mississippi.  Gulfport was nice this time of the year.  Ronnie put us the shade of some huge live oaks and we turned the guys out in his pasture beside the house.  We had a great stopover here.  We actually stayed two nights so we could catch up on some things like laundry and such, the value of clean underwear can never be overstated.  I'd reccommend Ronnie's place to anyone who needs an overnight stopover on the MS Gulf Coast. 

It's still heartbreaking to see the miles of vacant lots along the beach from the devestation of Hurricane Katrina, but there are many signs of the resiliencey of these people and life is returning to normal.  We found a great little seafood restaurant at Long Beach called Lil' Rays.  I't recommend it highly also. 

From there on across Louisiana where we stoppped and picked up some boudin sausage.  We ate some and saved some for our "trip feast" when we get home.  We really like boudin.  I can see why Jimmy C. Newman sang a song about it. ("But when you're a lil' boy in Louisiana, the first words you you learn to say is 'where dat boudin at?'")

 A brief stopover with Linda Shackleford in Beaumont, Texas who was just coming in from running the barrels at the rodeo, and we pulled out the next morning for our next stop at Paul Garcia's place at Seguin, Texas, near San Antonio.

As we were traversing the eight lanes on our side of I-10 at Katy, Texas, just west of Houston, a man in a pickup pulled up beside me on the left, dropped back and came up beside us on the right. Helen rolled down the window and he said, “Your front truck tire is flat, almost on the ground”. We thanked him profusely and made it for the next exit, where, since I was not able to get the rim loose from the hub, we called our US Rider Equestrian insurance assistance number. They sent out a good man who beat on the rim with a block of wood while I jiggled the wheel. After helping me install the spare and after a quick trip to Discount Tires, wonderful people who fixed our flat free, we were on the way again.

Our stop with Paul Garcia was very good. The man who worked for him spoke no English so I managed enough broken Spanish enough to ask him, “Jefe Nombre?” He replied “Pa ul” Garcia”, not Pablo, not Paul but “Pa ul”. We asked Paul about places to stay in Ft. Stockton, the most logical next stopping place. He suggest we call the sheriff's office. A suggestion that has proved invaluable since then.

Did you know you have to exit the main expressway about five times in order to stay on I-10 through San Antonio? Neither did I! But in Texas they have these wonderful things called “turnarounds” that will put you back in the opposite direction with no pain whatsoever.

At Ft. Stockton, we called the sheriff's office who told us to go to the Pecos County Arena. We could stall our horses there with no charge. As we were putting them up, Gus came by in his Pecos County pickup. We told him the lady from the Texas A&M extension office said we didn't have to tell anyone, just put 'em in the stalls. He said, "Oh yeah, she's exactly right, I just thought you might want to hook up to electricity and water." 

You gotta love Texas! More in a few days.

Florida in March – Spring's Eternal Promise - And Outreach

We're all reaching out toward each other. 

Sometimes you just have to have faith and jump in. That was the case when we headed out on the first leg of our adventure.  Our destination was the Coldwater Creek Horse Camp in the Blackwater River State Forest in Florida. Having already had a warm shot with the fine folks at Fiddlers Green, down southeast of Ocala in January, we were ready for another dose of cozy. Our calls to the reservations machine went unanswered so we just loaded up a lot of the things, (we forgot a lot too),  we had planned to carry with us on this big looping adventure and headed south. We learned a long time ago that there are a couple of mindsets required or you'll never get to ride.  One is to always bet against the weatherman and the second is to always assume everything will be OK.  A quick stop at the Wal-Mart parking lot in Alabaster, AL for some of son-in-law Tony's delicious ribs and were back on the road toward the pines and palmettos of the panhandle.

We were greeted by our gracious camp hosts, who come from Folkston, GA, the town where we tied our nuptials knot, so many years ago. He asked if we had reservations. I said, “Yeah, some, but we decided to stay here anyway”. (I know it's an old Bob Hope joke, but you have to dust them off and use them again when the time seems appropriate.) I explained that we had called but got no return call. He invited us on in, telling us there was a big ride coming in on Wednesday that had the entire camp reserved, but they'd figure something out. Like so many people we were to find on this journey, they found a way to accommodate us and make us feel welcome.

Riding in Florida has a great element of sameness about it, sandy footing with very few elevation changes, and if you don't like pines and palmettos, don't come here.  But every day brings newness too, with a differnt flower in bloom, the sky from a diffferent angle, or just the way a rabbit tears off through the thicket.  With Helen's keen eye and photography skill, she captures a lot of those things for us.  We decided to ride out on the yellow trail, since we were riding yellow horses.  Most of our decisions are made like this.  About halfway out on the loop, we met a couple of fellers from Montgomery.  After a nice chat with them we went on and completed our loop and made a run to the Peanut Growers' Co-Op in Jay, the location of feed stores being a high priority item everywhere we stop.
When we got back to camp neighbors had started arriving.  After making a little small talk about horses, camping and little bitty dogs, the conversation came around to the most important question, "Where y'all from?"  Or, since the Tennessee tag on the trailer was rather obvious, "What part of Tennnessee are y'all from?"  Now, I had learned from my time in the Air Force, that you have to localize when you tell people where you're from, starting with a place most people have heard of.  So I started with, "Just west of Nashville".  That drew the interest of the lady asking the question. 
"Really, what town?"
"Fairview."
"You're kidding!  My family originally came from Fairview!"
Her jaw dropped even further when I asked, "Sullivan, Mangrum, Lampley or Jones?"
"Mangrum!" 
Yep, we're all reaching out toward each other, whether it be in the kinds of horses we ride, the kind of riding we like, who our family is, or where we go to church.  We look for things that bond us and we find them.  Some people look for things that divide us, but I don't like that much. 


Jerry once again, for Helen.  More to come....