No pouting allowed at Beaver Hollow

… no day camping at Beaver Hollow would have been truly complete without the traditional “rattle snake hunt” disguised as a hay ride. As soon as the sun sets rattle snakes crawl out on the warm pavement on the county road, soaking up a bit more warmth before they retreat to a hole or burrow for the evening. Sometimes we would put hay bales on the trailer or use our cushiony swimming tubes as seats. Knowing ahead of time a couple of our war heroes visiting would be confined to a wheelchair we first had to build a ramp so we could load them onto the hay trailer with dignity. My sidekick Lauren devised a clever way of clamping their chairs into place so they could not roll around while they enjoyed the adventure. We even bolted down to the trailer deck an old church pew towards the back of the trailer for those who found it difficult to stay sitting on a slick hay bale.

With every body loaded up, me in the drivers seat, off we go. The old county road sees very little traffic so it always seems like we are out on our adventure alone. The warm evening air feels good against our skin as we putt, putt down the road. The big maple tree limbs hang heavy over the roadway with their big leaves waving in the breeze. The old road follows along side the curves of Graves Creek on one side and nothing but wilderness on our other side. We see deer along the way making their way down to the creek for a cool evening drink of water. Sometimes a fox will dart across our path. A hawk will scream from above but we are looking for that repulsive reptile, the rattle snake.

I can not hear conversations over the noise of the tractors engine but I can tell everyone is having a good time by the grins on their faces and all the things they are pointing out to one another. That’s when I noticed one of our supposedly “crazy guys” was setting on the back bench alone, his arms were crossed, his eyes looking downward, and his lips pursed into what I can only describe as a pout. Now at Beaver Hollow we have a pretty firm “No Pouting Rule”. I signal to the passengers on the front of the hay wagon to watch out, as I line my pouting friend on the back of the wagon up for the next oncoming low hanging maple tree limb. Missing his head by only about a foot, as we putt, putt by it. He shakes his upper body violently back and forth, still keeping his arms crossed, never looks up and by now he was really getting his pout on. This obviously was not the reaction I was looking for. In the back of my mind I knew he had some issues but figured if he went crazy and came for me, I’d just pull the pin between the tractor and the hay trailer and it could then become every man for himself. Being that they had been in a war before I know they knew about that scenario. Again signaling back to my very interested other passengers, watching what was unfolding here, I signal for low limb again. This time as I pass under another thick with foliage maple limb I am able to clip my lone disgruntled passenger on his ear with a big leaf. He sets bold upright and gives me a glare of glares as I prepare to pull the linkage pin between me and him, if need be. About then he sees everybody else on the wagon with him is staring at him, waiting to see what his reaction will be. I think he then realized we all wanted him to be involved in our little adventure that evening too and slowly he produces the biggest grin I think I have ever seen on a man before.  Still sitting there alone he began to converse with the rest of his comrades and seems to throughly enjoy the rest of his hayride along with my other honored guests. As I feverishly pound the kingpin back into the tongue of the wagon before it separates from the tractor hitch…