Mississippi Delta Tamale Trail

I don't know how/where we heard about it, but some time ago we learned that folks all over the Mississippi Delta make hot tamales.  In fact, Highway 61 that runs from Memphis plumb on down to the Gulf of Mexico has been dubbed the "tamale trail."  This weekend, kind of on the spur of the moment, Joel, his sister Pennie, her husband Gus, and I decided to drive that trail and sample the tamales at every joint between Tunica and Clarksdale.  I found a list of tamale joints at www.southernfoodways.org, and we headed out about 10 a.m Saturday.

The first place on our list was Sears Street Grocery in Tunica.  We followed the map, found the address, and thought twice about going in.  It looked mostly like a bar, and said "Bud's Bar" instead of "Sears Street Grocery."  I dialed the number I'd gotten from the web site, and got a recording that said the number had been disconnected.  I called the next place on the list, Ervin's Hot Tamales, in Sledge, Mississippi.  A nice lady answered the phone, confirmed that she had tamales, and said that we were welcome to come get some.  We programmed the address into the GPS, and took off.

The GSP directed us off the highway and onto little country roads that curled through cotton and rice fields.  Houses got few and farther between.  In no time, we were in the middle of nowhere, and feeling a little doubtful about founding a tamale joint in those parts.  When the GPS said, "Arriving at destination," we slowed down, looked around.  The mailbox confirmed the address was correct, but all we saw was a house at the end of a long driveway.  Joel was going to drive on by, but I said, "Now, wait...we've come this far.  Let me call her back and see if this is the right place."  I dialed the number.  The nice lady said we were in the right place.  "Ok, we'll be there in about three seconds," I told her.  Joel backed the truck up and eased it down the driveway.  The lady met us at the carport with a warm package and a strip of paper towels.  I gave her $11 for a dozen tamales, and we thanked her and left.

Gus tore into the package before we were out of the driveway.  Inside were four foil-wrapped bundles, and inside the foil were three parchment-wrapped tamales, tied with kitchen string.  A heavenly, savory aroma filled the truck.  I passed Gus some embroidery scissors I had in my bag, and he snipped the strings.  Joel pulled over in the first available spot, a tiny cemetery in a thicket at the edge of a field, and we tore into our individual bundles. 

Up to that moment, my experience with tamales had been limited to the canned things.  I was expecting something wrapped in parchment and dripping with red-tinged grease.  These tamales were wrapped in parchment, but Oh.  My.  God.  I never tasted anything so wonderful.  Since we were in a vehicle and had no plates or utensils, we squeezed the tamales out of the wrappers right into our mouths, then unrolled the wrappers and licked them!  My opinion of tamales had taken a 180-degree turn.  We were all anxious to get to the next place on the list, "Hick's Hot Tamales" in Clarksdale, Mississippi.

The signs said "OPEN," but the doors were locked and there were no cars in the parking lot.  I tried the door and started to walk away, then I heard a "click," and turned to see a young man opening the door for us.  We went in and ordered a dozen more tamales.  "Just one dozen for all y'all?" the man at the counter asked.  We explained that we were on a tamale-tasting adventure and didn't want to get too full at one place.  He said he'd sell us a dozen, "but y'all gon want more."  He was right; we wanted more (but refrained).  They were yummy!  These were wrapped in corn shucks.  They were a tad spicier and a little greasier than Ervin's, and the corn meal exterior was faintly sweet.  They served them with saltine crackers.  We washed them down with beer.  Delicious! 

 

 

The next stop on our list was Ground Zero Blues Club, which advertised "deep fried tamales." 

We ordered both the "regular" tamales and the deep fried ones, which were chopped into pieces, battered, and fried.  The regular ones came with a side order of slaw.  The fried ones came with a house dipping sauce and packets of ranch dressing.  We couldn't finish them.  We were just too full.  As a friend said, "Too much of a good thing is...too much."

We could've used some dessert, though.  There were several desserts on the menu, but someone in the group mentioned a hankering for pie.  After that, nothing but pie would do.  We drove around a bit, looking for pie, but didn't find any in the immediate area.  Dejected, we pointed the truck for home.

On the way, we remembered a place not far from the house that has pie.  We went in to see what they had.  Lemon.  Coconut Cream.  Pecan.  Chocolate.  And cake:  strawberry, banana, cheesecake, chocolate, and lemon.  Between the four of us, we ate 3 pieces of coconut pie, two pieces of banana cake, and a piece of chocolate pie.  My sister-in-law even bought a WHOLE coconut cream pie to take home.

Full to the gills, we climbed into the warm truck.  The closer to home we got, the heavier our eyelids got.  We dropped off the in-laws at their house, came home, put on our warm jammies, and settled in for the night.

It was good to be home!

P.S. - Willie Nelson was supposed to play at a casino in Tunica on Saturday night.  We only found out about it on Friday, and the tickets were sold out by then.  We checked the web site all day Saturday to see if any tickets had been released, and we even stopped by the casino Saturday evening to beg for tickets in person.  Alas, we were sad to learn that the show had been cancelled because some of Willie's band members had been injured in a bus wreck earlier in the day.  So, Willie, if you're reading this, we hope your folks get well soon, and we'll see you next time, if we can get tickets.  :)

Alabama Ancestry Hunt

            We had a couple of days off at the end of this week, and had not made specific plans on how to use them.  I’d been wanting to dig through the records in some northeastern Alabama courthouses to further my genealogy research and figured that this was as good a time as any.  Joel graciously agreed to be my chauffer.  We headed out Wednesday afternoon, hitting the road a little later than we’d intended, bound for Guntersville, Alabama (Marshall County) and Ashville, Alabama (St. Clair County).  Time permitting, I also wanted to stop in Russellville, Alabama (Franklin County), though my expectations of finding any new information there were slim to none.

            Because we’d gotten started late, we decided to stop in Cullman, Alabama instead of driving on to Guntersville that night.  In my humble opinion, the area around Guntersville is one of the most beautiful places in the world – not too flat, and not too hilly.  The town sits on a finger of land on the south end of Guntersville Lake.  The town square, the old part of the town, sits almost at the very tip of the finger, with the courthouse in the middle.  Joel did a walking tour of the square while I dug through old deed books.  I was still digging when he got back to the courthouse.  He helped me look through indexes, but we struck out; we did not find the document we were hunting.  Frustrated, we left empty-handed, and drove down to Ashville.

             St. Clair County is “where the action was” as far as my father’s family is concerned.  Census records show that Daddy’s ancestors lived there in the very early 1800s and long after the Civil War.  My previous research had unearthed some skeletons in this family, and I wanted to find out more about what made them tick.  We arrived at the St. Clair County Archives building at 12:30, only to find that it closed every day from noon until 1 p.m.  We walked around the square, hoping to find some lunch while we waited for the Archives to open, but there weren’t any restaurants on the square.  We hopped in the truck and drove a couple of miles out of town, where we’d seen a Mexican restaurant.  We were back at the Archives by 1:15 or so.  Although I did not discover any new information, I did find documentation to back up what I’d already learned.  We stayed there until nearly 5 p.m., then pointed ourselves toward Russellville, which is on the west side of Alabama, adjacent to the Mississippi state line.

             On the way to Russellville, I had a change of heart about stopping there.  The Franklin County courthouse has burned twice, once during the Civil War, and again in the 1890s.  The records I needed were pre-Civil War.  I’d already talked to the director of the county archives and knew that no documentation from that period had survived the fires, but there might be newspaper records, other people’s genealogies, etc., that might shed some light on the mystery of my mother’s ancestry.  I wavered back and forth in the decision whether to go to Russellville or not until we reached the junction that would either take us to Russellville or take us home.  Though he had not complained, Joel probably had enough of patiently waiting while I scoured through old record books.  Besides that, he had mentioned wanting to take the grandchildren camping this weekend, once we got back.  Not wanting to cut into the camping trip time, I said, “Let’s just go home.” 

            By this time, it was dark, and we were tired and hungry.  The closest town of any size was Muscle Shoals, 30 minutes ahead.  We decided to stop there for the night.  Now, I must confess that I am a cheapskate when it comes to motel rooms.  I don’t care about “fancy”; I just want “clean.”  As we were driving, I pulled up a list of Muscle Shoals motels on my cell phone and picked one at the cheap end of the spectrum.  We found it easily.  It did not look derelict or run-down.  “Works for me,” I told Joel.  He parked the truck and went in to register us for a room.

            When he came out with the key-card, we gathered our stuff from the truck and hauled it to the door.  The window curtain was open just a tad.  We could see that the television was on inside our room.  We exchanged a glance and did a simultaneous, “Hmmmm….”   I went ahead and used the key-card, hoping not to find somebody lying on the bed, watching tv…or worse. 

            The room was clean and smelled okay.  I checked the bathroom; the fixtures were clean, the towels were fresh, the little soaps and shampoos had been replenished, the bed didn’t have any “body imprints” on it, the sheets were clean.  We decided to stay.  While Joel went to the bathroom, I looked for the remote control to turn off the tv, but couldn’t find one – not on the dresser, or in the drawers, or in the nightstand, or between the cushions of the little love seat.  When Joel came out of the bathroom, I went in after telling him I couldn’t find the remote.  When I came out, he was on his hands and knees, looking under the bed.  “Did you find it?” I asked.  “No, but I found a flashlight,” he said, holding up the trophy, “and some little brown things.”

            “Little brown things?  What are they?”

            “Not sure,” he said.  “But they’re not moving, or anything.”  He didn’t seem concerned.

            We stopped by the front desk on the way to dinner to ask about the remote control.  The clerk had it.  Joel didn’t mention the brown things under the bed.

            We ate at a bbq joint called “Rick’s,” just down the road from the motel.  Joel had a pulled pork sandwich.  I had ribs.  They were pretty awesome.  Judges at a bbq cooking contest and television chefs will tell you that a perfectly-cooked rib should be tender, but firm enough to leave a distinct, semi-circular bite mark.  I say this is nonsense.  I want my ribs falling-off-the-bone tender.  Rick’s were that tender.  They weren’t heavily sauced or dry-rubbed, just smoked on the grill.  I hit them with sauce from bottles on the table.  Not bad at all.  Thumbs up, Rick.

            As we ate, I asked Joel about the “brown things” under the bed.  “What kind of brown things, exactly?”

            He chewed and pondered the question for a second or two.  “Dog food,” he said.  “Like little dog treats.”  He made a wee shape with his thumb and forefinger.

            I chewed and pondered the answer for a second or two.  I could envision somebody coming in with a yappy little dog and giving him treats to keep him quiet.  I could envision him hiding his treats under the bed.  I could envision a housekeeper coming in and vacuuming, changing the linens, cleaning the toilet and tub, doing a pretty thorough cleaning job without ever encountering the treasures stashed under the bed.  Okay, so maybe the presence of the dog treats didn’t necessarily equate with a nasty room.  Still, we double-checked the sheets before we settled in for the night.

            We were back on the road by 10 a.m., and pulled in our driveway about 1 p.m.  After three days of driving, we’d logged close to 800 miles on the odometer.  Joel had had enough driving and was out of the mood to immediately hit the road again for a camping trip.  To be honest, I was kind of glad.  The weather has turned off cool, and nothing sounded better to me than staying inside with a big pot of spaghetti sauce simmering on the stove.  And that's just what we did.

 

           It's good to be home.

 

Pickwick Camping - Oct. 11-14, 2013

We're just back from our first camping trip in our new camper.  We went to Pickwick Landing State Park for a long weekend.  Except for short road trips to sight-see in the nearby towns, we did absolutely nothing.  It was great.

Pickwick is only 120 miles or so from our home, but we'd never been there, and we didn't want to venture too far away since we'd never towed the camper except the day we brought it home from the dealership.  It's a good bit longer, taller, and heavier than our old TrailManor camper.  A two-hour drive was the perfect distance for the new camper's maiden voyage.

The TrailManor was sort of a pop-up camper, except that the pop-up sections were surrounded by metal/fiberglass instead of canvas/screens.  It was a good old camper, and we've hauled it all over the southeastern States, but there were a few things about it that we did not like.  Joel did not like the beds, which were located in the pop-up sections and were waist-high from the floor.  The larger bed was abutted on one end by a closet, and on the other end by a bathroom, leaving a narrow hallway space from which to access the bed.  Putting sheets on the bed in those tight quarters was a pain.  And since the length of the bed was perpendicular to the hallway, the sleeper on the inside of the bed had to first crawl over the sleeper on the outside of the bed, aim for the narrow hallway, then turn around and back out into the hallway while feeling for the floor (which was a l-o-n-g way down) with one foot.  Joel said we're getting too old to risk crushed kidneys and broken legs trying to get out of this bed in the dark.  I did not particularly mind this set-up, but then I always slept on the outside edge of the bed and didn't have to crawl over anybody to get out.

What I hated about the TrailManor was the "recirculating" toilet.  We bought this camper used (dragged it home all the way from Austin, Texas), and if the seller mentioned that the toilet was a recirculating toilet, I either missed it or did not realize was a recirculating toilet was.  What it is, is nasty.  I guess it's perfect for deep woods camping where there is no continuous water supply, but the fact that it conserves water by recirculating it means that after the first whizz or two, the water begins to get stinky.  After a #2, the water turns brown and emits exactly the smell you'd expect from #2 brown water.  During our first trip in that camper, we began limiting toilet use to middle-of-the-night awakenings to avoid hikes to park bathhouses in the dark.  But on our last camping trip, as I was coming back from the bathhouse in a cold, early morning drizzle, I said to myself, "I have a camper with a bathroom in it.  What is wrong with this picture?"

So we started thinking about a new camper, one better suited to old age and potty convenience.  Joel's bed requirement - a bed that was accessible from three sides - pretty much eliminated pop-up style campers.  My must-have list included a regular toilet, but I also wanted a camper that was comfortable on the inside.  We typically do not spend much time inside our campers - after all, what's the point of going camping if you're going to spend all of your time indoors? - but at night, when the weather is bad or the mosquitoes are ferocious, it's nice to come inside, shower off the campfire smell, and relax with a book before bed.  The TrailManor had two couches, both of which were as hard and narrow as old-time church pews.  I wanted a soft sofa, and a couple of comfy chairs.

Joel did a lot of internet surfing, shopping for the right camper.  When we went to Eureka Springs a few months ago, we did a day trip to a camper store and toured a few models.  The camper that Joel wanted was about 24 feet long, had bunk beds at one end, and a love seat that was jammed up against a half-wall that separated the "bedroom" from the rest of the camper.  I could imagine climbing out of bed and flipping head-first over that half-wall trying to get to the bathroom in the dark.  Standing in front of the bunk beds, I imagined trying to get sheets on the mattresses in the bunk recesses.  It didn't look easy.

The camper I liked best was 27 feet long, with a slide-out section, a nice bathroom, two comfy chairs, and a comfy sofa.  Joel said this camper was just too big, that he wouldn't feel comfortable towing something that long. 

Joel kept surfing, and kept forwarding me pictures of smaller campers.  I couldn't imagine being comfortable in them.  Finally, one night I said, "You know, considering that we only go camping once or twice a year these days, and considering that the TrailManor is paid for, we should just deal with the bed and the toilet, and just keep it."

Pretty soon, Joel started forwarding pictures of bigger, nicer campers.  ;)

This is the one we got.  Note:  two comfy chairs and a comfy sofa; a nice kitchen with stainless steel appliances and lots of counter space and storage space; behind the photographer in this picture is a nice bathroom (with a non-recirculating toilet!) and a bedroom with real walls and a bed that is accessible from three sides.  On the outside, the legs, the tongue-jack, and the awning are all motorized;  no more cranking and jacking and cussing;  just push buttons, and everything goes up/down/in/out.  Just right for two creaky old people like us.  :)

Thinking that it might rain during this trip, I took my sewing machine and had plenty space to work in when we came inside for the night, while Joel lounged on the comfy furniture, surfing with his i-Pad.  As our younger son said when we bought our first air-conditioned pop-up after years of hot tents and sleeping bags, "Now, THIS is camping!"  ;) 

Eureka Springs - Day 4

Yesterday evening, when we were having a lazy evening in our room, surfing the web for ideas for some place else to go, some new neighbors moved into the "suite" adjacent to ours.  We knew they were there when the loud music started early in the evening. Joel just cranked up the volume on the TV a couple of notches and kept on surfing. 

I was surfing for a new destination, too.  I looked all over the top half of Arkansas, the bottom half of Missouri, and parts of Illinois and Kentucky.  It seems we've pretty well toured these areas.  I couldn't find a thing that excited me.  Eventually, from across the room, Joel asked, "Well, where have you been looking?"  I told him.  He rattled off a couple of web site addresses.  They didn't excite me, either.  "I suppose we could always just go home and work in the garden."  Joel surfed a little faster.

About the time we turned out the lights, we heard a series of low, throbbing hums.  We both bolted upright in bed.  "What was that?"  We kept listening.  It was the neighbors' jacuzzi jets, thank goodness, and not some freaky electrical appliance malfunction in our room.  We rolled over and went to sleep.

About 6 a.m. this morning, I was awakened by a woman's shout.  Alarmed, I raised up my head to listen.  It was coming from next door.  I kept listening.  She kept shouting.  Panting is more like it.  Swear to God, it sounded like they were re-enacting the restaurant scene from "When Harry Met Sally" ("I'll have what she's having.")  I covered up my head with my pillow until the noise died down.

But by then I was awake.  I got up, turned on the coffee pot, toasted a slice of zucchini bread that we'd taken with us, and took my coffee, my bread, and my kindle out to the porch, hoping the neighbors were done.

Joel got up about an hour later.  We showered, dressed, and loaded our stuff into the truck.  Joel went to the office to turn in the key.  When he came out, he said, "The guy said, 'Y'all sure are up early.'" 

"Did you tell him the neighbors' loud sex woke me up at the crack of dawn?"

Joel had slept through the loud sex.

"There was another guy in the office," he said, after I told him the story.  "I should've high-fived him."

Men. 

We still hadn't decided on another destination, so we just drove in the general direction of home, looking for breakfast.  Meanwhile, I started getting flash flood warnings for Eureka Springs, southern Missouri, and northern Arkansas.  These warnings pretty much covered all of the places we'd talked about going.  After breakfast, we headed home. 

We mostly stayed ahead of the storm, though it caught up with us briefly in Mountain Home, Arkansas.  By the time we hit Memphis, the warnings had been extended to eastern Arkansas and western Tennessee.  The deluge hit just about the time we walked through our front door.

We both have the rest of the week off from work.  During the drive home, I suggested that we could re-group and head somewhere else tomorrow.  Joel said he'd thought about just staying home and painting the living room.  This was music to my ears, as I'd long ago grown sick of the "Butternut Squash" paint that turned out to be more like "Schoolbus Yellow" on our walls. 

Who needs another trip when there's a willing man with a paint roller in the house?

It's good to be home!

Eureka Springs - Day 3

We slept late (well, late for us) this morning and barely made it up the road to Angler's restaurant in time for breakfast.  We didn't have any specific plans for the day.  While we ate, we browsed through some brochures we found in the entry way, but nothing jumped out at us.  When we finished our breakfast, we headed toward town to find something to do.  Along the way, we saw a sign for Thorncrown Chapel and decided to stop and have a look.  There was a church service in progress, and, oddly, we were not allowed inside until the service was over.  We decided to do some other sightseeing and come back later.

Our first stop was the area where the Passion Play is held.  No play was in progress, but we got out of the truck and walked down to the statue of Jesus.  Jesus is big in Eureka Springs.  Really big.

We took another spin through the historic district.  We parked at the Crescent Hotel and went inside for a bit, then drove around a little more.  Had some ice cream.  Visited a shop where live rabbits take your money and give you change at the cash register (for real).  Explored a Cherokee gift shop.  Went back to Thorncrown Chapel.

This chapel really is magnificent in a way.  It is nestled in the woods along the highway.  The ceiling and the walls are glass.  At the door, we were told by The Church Lady, "This is a sitting chapel.  If you want to take pictures, take them sitting down."  We went in, sat down near the back, enjoyed the view for a few minutes, and then got up to leave.  When Joel raised his cell phone to snap one last picture, Church Lady admonished him, "THIS IS A SITTING CHAPEL."  Geez.

 

 

There are no overhead lights - just the skylight in the ceiling.  The only electric lighting is in wooden fixtures along the walls.  Every light fixture has a cross in it.

After leaving the chapel, we checked out a couple of antique stores, then headed back toward the lodge.  There was left-over pizza in the fridge, and our plan was to stay in and rest for the afternoon and heat up the pizza for supper.  Joel thought that some beer might be nice with the pizza.  We stopped at a country store to buy some, but Joel came out empty handed; no beer on Sunday in Arkansas.

Our lodging is paid up through tonight.  Tomorrow, we will either have to go home, find someplace else to go, or extend our stay here.  I think we've about seen most of this corner of Arkansas.   
We had thought about checking in to one of the hotels in the historic district, but we aren't very excited about ghost tours and gift shops. 

We'll see what happens tomorrow.

Eureka Springs - Day Two

Oh, we have had a big time today!

We started out with a leisurely breakfast at Angler's at about 9 a.m.  Good biscuits.

After that, we went for a tour-guided boat ride on Beaver Lake on the "Belle of the Ozarks," a pontoon boat.  The morning could not have been more perfect - sunny, but not hot. 

After the boat ride, we drove into Eureka Springs, intending to tour the historic downtown district.  There was some kind of bicycle race in progress.  The historic district was positively choked with traffic, which is probably normal for that area, and made worse by the racers.  We got out of there as soon as we could and started looking for some place to eat lunch.  Today's choice:  The Rockin' Pig.  Awesome.  Seriously.

As we were finishing our meal, I asked Joel what he wanted to do next.  He said he wanted to see the Daisy Air Rifle Museum in Rogers, Arkansas, about 30 miles away.  We struck a trail.  It was a tiny museum, but Joel loved it.  We bought BB guns for all the grandkids who don't already have one.

 

 

After the museum, we started back to Eureka Springs, then Joel remembered he wanted to go to the Camping World store in Lowell, Arkansas, about 30 minutes from Rogers.  We did a U-turn and headed to Lowell.  Joel is wanting a new camper, and this store sells the brand he's been shopping.  We spent about an hour going in and out of campers, but never found one that seemed exactly what we were looking for. 

 

We took a different route back to Eureka Springs.  By the end of the day, we must have traveled every highway in two counties!  On the way back, we picked up a pizza for dinner.

 

Not sure what's on the agenda for tomorrow.  We still have not seriously toured the historic downtown area.  We think that it might be less crowded Monday, when the weekenders go home. 

 

But, for now, it's a beautiful night, and I might just see if I can figure out what all the fuss over jacuzzis is about.  ;) 

 

 

 

Eureka Springs - August 9, 2013 - Day 1

My brother and sister-in-law invited us to spend a week with them at their cabin near Boulder, Colorado. Our plan was to drive to Colorado, spend a week with them, and then drive to Mt. Rushmore (and parts thereabout) for a few days. Unfortunately, our mother got sick and was hospitalized, and she was still in the hospital on our planned departure date. We did not feel comfortable doing such a long road trip with Mother in the hospital. We opted, instead, for a road trip to Eureka Springs, Arkansas, which is about a 6 hour drive from our home.

We headed out at about 9 a.m. and drove to Arkansas at a leisurely pace. We wasted a little time in Mt. Home, Arkansas, looking for a restaurant that did not exist - at least, it did not exist in the area in which we were searching. We have a fairly hard-and-fast rule about eating on the road: no chain restaurants or fast food, if we can help it. Finally, we spied a little Mexican restaurant in a shopping center and decided to go there. It was okay (though not nearly as good as our little Mexican place back home).

It was about 6 p.m. when we reached Eureka Springs. The streets were choked with traffic - cars, motorcycles, trucks pulling boats. Joel had booked us a "suite" in a "resort" on Beaver Lake, several miles outside of Eureka Springs. The road to the resort is crooked and steep, but we found the place without incident.

This place is called Sugar Ridge Resort. It consists of a main building and several cabins. Our suite in the main building is on the second floor. We checked in and hauled our suitcase up the steps. At the top of the steps, there were several turds on the treads and the landing. I made a face and stepped over them, calling to Joel over my shoulder, "Watch out for poo!"

Our "suite" turned out to be one large room with a sofa, a king-sized bed, and a kitchenette with a refrigerator, microwave, toaster oven, and coffee pot. Opposite the foot of the bed is a mirrored wall, and in front of that mirror is a very large, deep jacuzzi tub. We had not gone looking for a room with a jacuzzi tub, but nearly every hotel/motel/resort advertises in-suite jacuzzis. These Arkansans must have a thing about cleanliness. ;)

After stashing our suitcase, we stepped out on the balcony to take in the view. Not bad.   

 

 

I snapped a couple of pictures, then started back down the steps to get something from the truck.  On the way, I wondered out loud what in thunder had POOPED on the steps.  Joel said it was probably a raccoon.  When I turned to glance at him, I saw it sitting in the rafters, right above Joel's head.  It didn't seem to be the least bit frightened of us.

 

 

Inside our room is a journal where previous guests write their opinions of their stay in this suite.  Nearly every entry mentioned the raccoon(s).  We went back out to the balcony, tiptoed, peered up toward the rafters, and saw at least three more 'coons peering back down at us.

 

By the time we'd hauled our stuff up the steps, it was time to look for some dinner.  The down side to staying several miles out of town is that we have to drive a good ways to find food.  We ended up at "The Rowdy Beaver" on the west side of town, mostly because we liked the name.  Joel had ribs.  They were oven-baked, drowned in barbeque sauce, and seemed complete strangers to the grill, but they were edible.  I had spaghetti and meatballs.  I must say the meatballs were pretty good.  The sign outside the Beaver advertised karaoke on Friday nights.  I have never been around karaoke singers when I wasn't embarrassed for one or more of them.  This time proved no different.  After a few beers, Joel was about ready to grab the mike, himself.  I promised him that I would video it with my phone and put it on Facebook if he did.  He restrained himself.  I saw some other wives videoing their husbands/boyfriends.  I smell blackmail.  ;)