No 2 - Don't mess with nature

    Driving the isolated dirt-packed prairie road in South Dakota had been sublime, not a soul had been seen all afternoon, I was alone but not lonely, I had 'Betsy' my campervan for company, she was old and fat and comfortable, we had shared many adventures together. Today we were following the Lewis and Clarke trail from Astoria to St Louis, a 4,500 mile journey of discovery.
     The late afternoon sun was about to erupt into a spectacular display of gold and russet colours. I pulled off the track and parked ‘Betsy’ on some soft scrubland to make camp for the night. I wanted to watch the sun's final rays, and enjoy the solitude. The thermometer was already below freezing; time to make a welcome mug of soup.

          I silenced the country and western music pouring from the radio, but instead of the expected tranquil silence, the air was assaulted by the mass honking of geese; – I has seen migrating groups of Canada Geese flying over-head daily for the past three weeks, they were usually in social groups of 20-40 birds, occasionally gaving out a solitary ‘Honk’ as they changed leaders in their trademark vee formations. However, the honking I heard now was as thunderous as the traffic on Broadway.

            Just a quarter of a mile to the west, I saw countless geese formations circling and dropping to land in what looked like a newly ploughed field, thousands more were arriving in a convoy following the path of the Missouri River.

           I went across to the fence and saw that the 'ploughed field' was in fact a recently cropped maize field covered by a heaving ocean of birds already on the ground. This was no isolated gaggle of geese; it was a highly organized mass migration of fowl escaping the frozen climes of Canada, they were on their way south to the warm lushness of Louisiana.
      They had dropped into this ‘Maize Motel’ to rest up for the night, to dine on the freshly cut stalks and seek safety away from human habitation. 

       Already there were 15-20 thousand on the ground.

       "Hey! This Maize is great, better than last night’s sage bush."

            "God! It's good to stretch your legs again."

            "Yeh, It's not a flap too soon, I'm exhausted."

            "Did you see that amazing lake in North Dakota?"

            "Has the Gander Family arrived yet?"

            "Hey! Keep an eye on Donald, or we'll lose him."

            "Clear a space, here come the Quaker clan."

            The noise and din of their cackling conversations from a quarter mile away was extraordinary. I felt that I had to be part of it, I grabbed a thick fleece, to guard against the freezing winds, and a video camera to capture the phenomenon.
      As I leapt the fence to make my way to the greatest Pow-Wow in North America, I spotted an owl sitting silently on a pole mesmerised by what was taking place.

       I crept to within 100 ft of this cacophony of sound, when suddenly the honking ceased, all went silent, an eyrie hush hung in the chill dusk air, ... then without warning, a death-like screech went up, followed by a huge rush of air; they had spotted me and were panicking.

       Total chaos and confusion prevailed as 20,000 ungainly Canada Geese tried frantically to become airborne at the same time; wings beat and churned the air, collisions and cursing occurred, a whirlwind of feathers and fluff welled up as distraught    screams and shouts were made in an effort to gather themselves into family clans and formations.

       What had I done? The natural beauty of nature should never be tampered with. I had broken the rules and approached too close. Pandemonium reigned. It was a sad sight and I was to blame.

       I could do nothing. I stood there in a pool of shameful guilt, watching helplessly as they gained height.They grouped and regrouped, until at 500 ft they finally headed west, hoping in desperation to secure a little more daylight in their search for food and a safe haven.
       Slowly I turned  toward the waiting warmth of ‘Betsy’ and followed my own lengthening shadow across the loam, the last of the sun’s rays cast a cold mocking sting of scorn on my neck.  

"I'm sorry!" I cried out. "I'm sorry!" 
But they didn't hear. No one heard.
“Toowhit! Toowhoo!” Cried the Owl as it swooped away.
I was alone on a vast cold plain.
"I'm sorry" I whispered.
But there was no one to hear, no one to know.

Except the owl... it knew.
I dragged my feet... I knew.
A milky moon gazed down... and He knew.

No 1 - The Battle of Port-a-Loo and other skirmishes

    

 Autumn is a glorious time of the year to drift along the colourful back-roads of North Eastern USA; not only is the countryside ablaze with the brilliant colours of Birch and Maple trees, but it's also the time to find restaurants and diners decked out with quirky and ghoulish Halloween themes, each serving delicious pumpkin or hot cinnamon apple pies.  
        We came upon such a diner in the township of Front Royal, Virginia; We were puzzled by its name and asked the waitress during dinner how the town came to be so called. 'I graduated high school six years ago and I have forgot all that stuff, but I know there's a lot of history in these parts' she replied. We later discovered that during the Civil War, troops used to parade in front of a large Royal Oak tree and often the command was "Front! Royal!" On another occasion we called into the Amish township of Intercourse, Pennsylvania, but thought it best not to ask the waitress how it got its name.

        At the small historic town of Winchester, Virginia, we stopped to stretch our legs along the picturesque cobbled Main Street  It was a cold damp Sunday morning as we scuffed through drifts of colourful autumn leaves, past beautifully maintained white clapboard stores, homes and a snow white church. We found a diner serving Bavarian cream donuts and steaming mugs of coffee; just what we needed before heading off to Berkeley Springs where we had been told that an 'Apple Butter Festival' was in progress.

Apple Butter, stirred but not shaken.

     It took a 40-mile detour to track down the tiny spa town of Berkeley Springs, It lay in a damp hollow in the back hills of West Virginia and was once owned by Lord Fairfax. Its two streets were overflowing with craft stalls, folk music and people warming themselves around open fires upon which cauldrons of Apple Butter simmered.

         I am not sure whether it was the cold or the coffee that prompted my desperate need for a toilet. Mercifully I spotted a row of port-a-loos leading off the main street and with relief pulled open one of the doors. I already had one foot inside when I realised I was face to face with a very, very, large, over-weight, grossly obese, half naked lady, whose body was well and truly wedged within the walls of the thunder-box, her modesty was well covered by multitudinous folds of a Michelin tummy which cascaded over where her knees should have been.

       Boy! Was I surprised to see her! But not half as surprised as she was to see me! We were both speechless. The whole street seemed to be watching.  Should I wait for the fat lady to sing or leave before she found her voice and let rip with a rant at me? I decided to forgo the formalities of an introduction and just raised my cap as I closed the door.  Did I do the right thing? I wonder what Miss Manners would have advised? What would you have done? Answers on a post-card please.      

   The once elegant city of Troy NY sits upon the banks of the Hudson River, it's renown for two things, which I shall tell you about; thus saving you the time of ever having to drive there; First of all it has scores of unmarked one-way streets and numerous large signs pointing to a 'Visitors Centre' that doesn’t exist. It was only on our third trip around the same block that we stopped and were informed that a sturdy trestle table with leaflets was usually set up on days when visitors were expected, unless it was raining. The day we arrived was raining and I doubt we were expected. Second of all; during the American Revolution a butcher by the name of Sam Wilson built up a nice business as a government supplier of meat to the American Army, he stamped the letters U.S. on all his barrels of meat to indicate United States, this was before the states were even united, people however thought is meant  'Uncle Sam' - the term stuck and passed into common usage to mean the government. I bet you are glad we saved you the journey. 

       We stopped briefly at Bennington to view the enormous Obelisk which commemorates the day in August 1777 when the revolutionaries fought off the British who were trying to steal their cache of food. The locals, on hearing our British accents, took great joy joshing with us about the day they ‘kicked our butts’. I think the irony of their remark was lost on them, considering they were third and forth generation Italian, German and Swedish immigrants. Anyway, I rebutted by pointed out that hanging onto their lunch box was hardly justification to built a 306 ft. granite obelisk, and that any further insolence from them would be reported to the Queen when we returned from our inspection of the colonies. That really got them going.

No 2 - Don't mess with nature