We’ve run the gamut as far as weather conditions and climate alterations in the past few weeks. Initially, it was the earthquake, pale in comparison to those along the San Andreas fault. But in Pennsylvania, those almost never appear so it was a big deal. I’m sure they would scoff at us on the Left Coast but it gave us something to talk about for a week.
Mike Walling, known in these parts as the Porkmeister, presided as the main chef, grilling the steaks and handling the lobster. I assisted and was charged with the baked potatoes and salad for the masses.
Not to be outdone by the earthquake, along came remnant of Hurricane Irene. She may have pummeled the east coast but the backlash of winds from her “eye” made a mess of things around here for a short time.
Power went down for a day and a half but we kept open the cafe in order for any wayfarer camper to have a safe haven from the winds. As quick as it came, it went. Jerome and his entourage of groundskeepers painstakingly policed the resort. A day after its exit, you wouldn’t have known we were a part of the aftermath. Two days later, I joined Ken and Pete for a round at The Hawk. Ken and Pat will be leaving tomorrow, so this would have been our last links encounter for the year. The competition brought out the best in me. They spurned me to turn in my best round of the season so far. Thank you, gentlemen.
Cheryl and Jerry invited us mid-week to a cuisine that was foreign to these taste buds. Apparently, low country boil is a revered entree in the Carolinas. They had talked about it for some time and promised to intoduce us to the Palmetto State’s finest. Skeptical at first, this quickly turned to a pleasant surprise. Keilbasa led the way into the boiling pot, stuff with Bay seasoning, add the potatoes some seven minutes later, followed by the ears of corn, boil a little more, and then add the shrimp as the coup de grace. Finish off the boil and its’ usually dumped onto newspaper. However, short of that, Cherly found a fine platter for us all to partake in the feast.
And just as soon as we were riding a high, along came the tropical storms. I’ve never seen such incessant rain for so long in my life. Apparently, from the studios in Harrisburg, reporters confided this flood had even surpassed the last great disaster of 1972. Confined to the RV, a lot of good downsizing was able to take place. Some reading, some computer time, some thinking, gave time for reflection. Although I didn’t realize it, I needed that. I was in a funk. The words of encouragement from some of you out there turned the tide a bit. Thank you for the challenge. Following the pelting, we couldn’t keep from surveying the damage. Like rubbernecks on a turnpike, we cruised the county. Isn’t it warped how we seek the unusual, the disastrous, the fearful, to see in plain view. Oxymorons are we.