Banjos in the Mist

Took a trip to 'the country' over the weekend. How do you know you are in 'the country'? Well, there are the signs:

Red or white pop. That is the question...

My husband feels there is a direct correlation between my ability to walk barefoot on asphalt in July with my love of fried bologna and I would have happily eaten at Uncle Joe's but we had a lake to fall into. We turned off the highway and onto a blacktop road designated by a snake drawing on a yellow road sign. The road took us over the very lake we were hoping to swim sail. The bridge over the lake was very scenic and gaurded by a floatilla of fishermen who do not own shirts. None of them. Including the women.

On the right side of the road, directly before our turn, was a brown park sign designating the area north of the road a 'Controlled Hunting Area'. Seemed straightforward enough. We made our turn, which took us south, and immediately passed a boy of around fourteen standing on the seat of an ATV pointing a crossbow at something in the backwater of the ditch at the side of the road. His buddy had just lobbed an unseen object toward the threat and was racing off with his hands over his ears.

Neither boy had on a shirt...or shoes.

Welcome to the 'Uncontrolled Hunting Area'.

We decided it was best not to stop for a photo...