Christian fished this morning and didn't even get a bite. He did, however, nearly freeze to death. We came to the south in hopes of sunshine and warmth, but the dreary cold followed us for most of this trip. I confess, yesterday I dared to shake my pointing finger at the raining-heavily-for-hours sky and exclaim, "Ha ha ha! You may give us rain, but we're STILL having fun!" Oh, the weather hasn't been all that bad: I can recall a few hours here and there when I wasn't cold.
We went to Muscle Shoals, Alabama today. We took the Natchez Trace Parkway, a scenic road that follows what was once an Indian trade route. It was beautiful. We got to see a couple works of the Mound Builders. The mound we saw on the Natchez Trace once had a small temple on it that was used for worship. We later saw a huge mound in Muscle Shoals. It stands taller than our two story house.
On the way, we took the most peculiar 30 mile detour through the back country where I would occasionally point out in sadness, "Kids: these are people's homes. People live in those dilapidated shacks." This detour was not because we were lost. Oh, no. We were on our way to Alabama's only Coon Dog Cemetery. We had to see this place where people pay to lay their purebred coon dogs to rest. It maybe wasn't worth the lengthy drive, but how many of you can say you saw a coon dog graveyard on your last family vacation?
We ate catfish, hush puppies and squash casserole at a family restaurant after that little excursion. Truth be told, we barely picked at our meals. I was so excited to eat catfish in the south, but you know what? Catfish is just as disgusting in Mississippi as it is in Minnesota. And what in the world is a hush puppy anyhow? Our stomachs just are not used to fried food, I guess.
Our waitress was my age and she gave us her life story of how she's raising her grandchildren and one of her own that she conceived years after her husband had a vasectomy. I sat there and wondered how I attract these people who feel so free to tell me their most disturbing personal details (this happens to me A LOT) while simultaneously praying that my eight year old daughter doesn't ask me to define "vasectomy" for her. If you are laughing at this "redneck" experience, then I need to share that Young Grandma Waitress is a product of the north, having moved to the Shoals from Illinois.
When we returned to our cabin, Mom took C and E fishing while I walked the boys down to a playground by the swing bridge. Those Chickasaw Indian spirits must have done another rain dance in the ravine by our cabin because we slept again to the sound of thunder and heavy rain and even a little hail.
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