[Disclaimer: The events in this post occurred in August 2016, and have been retold fully and completely, absent any intention of false or misleading information. Any similarity to any person living or dead is fully intentional.]
What a great spot! A
pull-though with a hard dirt/gravel pad toward the end of the road. It is perfectly level laterally, with only a
slight downward slope at the head of the trailer. And for whatever reason the neighboring
trailers are staying several spots away, leaving us with a three to four space
clearing for the kids to play. Even more
strange, no ant hills! There are always ant hills, so this is pretty
great. The only minor worry is a fairly
serious puddle at the end of the road, but we don’t have to “cross that bridge” until
moving day with house in tow.
Curiously
it seems all the annual site owners are elsewhere in the campground, leaving us
smack dab in the middle of some “transient row”. Immediately after a 30 minute Florida-style
downpour, my curiosity was no more.
We
returned from our awesome visit to Savannah, visiting old friends from way back in Nebraska, topping off the
trip with a stop at the Carolina Cider Company to find something far less exciting. Our campsite was flooded. Not washed away, destroyed or otherwise
alarming, but ankle deep water stretched across the land, including our front
door stoop. With no dry way to
exit the vehicle after pulling into our usually grassy spot, we quipped, “No
problem! Just swing around the road on
the backside and enter by the back door.
It looks considerably drier.” I
nudge the throttle to pull out of the lake we’re sitting in and back onto the dirt
road. A sinking feeling outside is met
with a similar sink in my gut. The truck’s
rear end has sunken deep into the mud, and all the throttle gives is spinning
wheels...deeper we sink.
“No
problem!” I put her in neutral, Brynn
reaches over and engages the 4x4, and surely we’ll be on our way in no
time. [Throttle, tires spinning, wheels sinking.] “No problem. I’ll put her in reverse. We’ll go out the way we came in, or at least
rock her free.” [Throttle, spinning, sinking, *sigh*] “No problem… there is some gravel nearby, and
our leveling blocks can help us garner some traction."
I step
out of the truck and sink shin deep into the water. With each step the mud claws at my shoes, threatening
to swallow them clean off my feet. With
a Playschool brand bright blue frilly trimmed umbrella in hand (ironically from
the children’s water table) I gather some gear to shove under the
tires. Brynn hops in the pilot seat,
ready to coax this Beast of Burden out of its pit. [Throttle,
spinning wheels, tires grinding on plastic blocks now buried deep beneath the
mud]. “No problem…?” Fortunate to have some asphalt chunks and
broken brick sitting in a pile at our campsite (I swear it’s a nicer place than
that image might suggest), my hope is renewed.
With one final heave-ho, the Beast surges free, like a yacht leaving
harbor, leaving two craters in its wake.
I spend a few minutes digging up our orange blocks from the mud, but all
is well now. Like we said all along, “No
problem.”
Postlude: “I guess
all this flooding keeps the ants away.
That’s a plus,” I remark as we enter the trailer. Seconds later: “Uh oh, I’m finding ants
crawling on my legs and arms (and even while writing this, on my shoulder) as
they search for high and dry ground!"
