Another great in the series

The Dead Season
Raine Stockton Dog Mystery #6
by Donna Ball

Very, very scary. This is one author who is not content to stick with the same formula over and over. She repeats the main characters, but varies the action so very much that I never know what to expect from a book.

And in this one the detective goes on a camping trip as "wilderness survival expert" with a group of troubled teens. She soon finds that the teens seem to be less troubled than the leaders--they're downright creepy. Not to mention that she doesn't agree with their methods for helping kids learn to work together or for wilderness survival.

Then, as you might expect but I didn't, they end up in a real survival situation. And it gets better. Best one of the series so far!

Punning and K-9 detection

 The Paw Enforcement mysteries, #3-6

by Diane Kelly

See my review of Laying Down the Paw. I will not review the rest of the series individually--I'd run out of things to say and get tired of saying the same thing over and over. She's taken a pattern and followed it in every book, with different crimes, settings and protagonists, of course. They're getting funnier as they go along, which is good.

I mentioned before that her pattern is to alternate chapters between the detective (police officer with ambition), her drug sniffing K-9 companion, and the bad guy. And I really, really hated reading from the perspective of the bad guy. It spoiled the mystery and got boring to boot--at first she seemed to be offering up a little lesson in psychology, letting you empathize with the criminal for a bit. But in the last two books she's kept the bad guy's chapter to a single page, or less. And I am grateful--I can skim it briefly or skip it altogether. And I find that improves the whole mystery. A lot.

Mammoth's Last Day at Lake Arrowhead

 Friday, October 23

Yeah, a cold front had groaned, grunted and pushed its way through the neighborhood. Or, as they call them in Texas, a Norther.  Next morning there was a lake in our campsite and a cold wind sweeping the leaves around in swirls. I wasn't about to complain. It was October, nearly November, and the previous day's high of 86 had been just too high. Maybe it didn't have to go from 86 degrees all the way down to 46--in twelve hours--but that's not my decision. Weather in Texas has always been weird and it appears to be getting weirder.

The Mammoth contained an assortment of my winter clothes, but apparently not any warm pants or long socks. Hmmm....not true. There were two pairs of long socks in there, both of which I got for presents and have never taken out of the packages. Weird. I didn't have any gloves either, except for a pair of oversized fur-lined leather gloves that I never seem to see the need to put on. They're just too big, too warm, or too too. I need to wear the dumb things or quietly disappear them.

So the dogs got their walks and I admit to putting leashes around my wrists and hands in my pockets most of the time. And after a quick breakfast, we packed up to leave.

There was no especial rush. Although our little 2-1/2 hour trip ended up taking almost 4 hours--we left at about 11:00 and didn't arrive until nearly 3:00. I know we took a slightly different route, but that wasn't what caused the problem--it was those slowdowns between Denton and McKinney.  A traffic light blinking red in all directions caused a ten minute slowdown. Google maps tells us to take I-35 south all the way down to Plano and then take 121 north back to McKinney, and that's just a sign of total stupid--that the two legs of a right triangle, totaling fifteen extra miles, can be five minutes faster. We chose not to go that far out of our way and we suffered the consequences.

(Aside: it's not as stupid as it seems, either. Long years of experience driving in DFW area traffic have taught me that extra miles increase the probability of encountering an accident-caused slowdown. I prefer to play the odds.)

The other funny thing about the trip was that I let Ed plan the route, and rather than going back the way we'd came (137 miles) he chose the quickest route to highway 380, which ended up being  172 miles.  I have no idea why, but that's what I deserve for delegating my navigation duties.

But since I had no idea that we we going an extra 35 miles, I enjoyed the drive. It's always nice to return by a different route. The landscape out there was lovely, especially around Antelope and Jacksboro.

We stopped for gas at the Loves Travel Stop in Bridgeport. I still hadn't put Ed's phone number on my speed dial, and as we were passing through Bridgeport I saw several gas stations. None were suitable for RVs, but the sight of them reminded me strongly of just how badly I needed to pee. I'd had two cups of coffee for breakfast and it had been two hours since then.

Unfortunately, I'd somehow let a big truck get between my Jeep and the Mammoth motorhome, so I couldn't easily zip in front of Ed and lead him to a gas station. But then I saw the Love's off to the right on top of a hill. I didn't have time to call--he was in the center lane and me in the left--I tried flashing my lights at him and putting on my right turn signal, but it was hopeless. Finally I just moved over to the right lane and gritted my teeth, prepared to soldier on....

When suddenly he switched lanes and turned right into the Love's! Hurray. I made it without peeing my pants. I was awfully low on gas by then, too, so if he hadn't pulled in of his own accord we would have had to turn around and go back, once I caught up and got his attention. We really need walkie-talkies or better phone programming.

NOTES:
1. If there is lighting in the northwest sky and you're leaving next day, take down the satellite dish before going to bed.
2. Sweet potato fries may not be the whole meaning of life, but they're significant.
3. Love's Travel Stop near Bridgeport is a great place to gas up

Thursday at Lake Arrowhead

October 22

The agenda for the day was disc golf and waterfall watching. There are a lot of well-maintained trails at the park, but Ed is not up for too much walking and I didn't care to go too far alone--I have a tendency to get lost, for one thing.

But there seemed to be no point in being at a park with an 18-hole disc golf course if we didn't at least check it out. So off we went, leaving dogs at home.

It was a lovely course with well-groomed fairways and good signage. There were two problems with our game: (1) the wind, and (2) our aim. Luckily I don't throw the discs very far, so they're not all that hard to find, but unluckily I tend to throw them wildly. On either side of the nicely-groomed fairway was low brush and cactus thickets of the sort that make up the landscape of West Texas. Luckily I'd worn hiking sandals instead of flip flops, but tall socks and boots would have been better.

We did the first eight holes and arrived back at the Jeep, so we stopped our game there. Don't ask the score. It was kind of hot and Ed's hip was already hurting him. We headed back to get the dogs and take a road trip to Lucy Park at Wichita Falls.

For reasons I can't explain, I always assumed the waterfall that gave Wichita Falls its name were on the Red River.  And also for reasons I can't explain, I always wanted to see them. And I thought they were real.

And I was mostly wrong. They are on the Wichita River, a tributary of the Red River.
The Texan Santa Fe Expedition* crossed the river in 1841 and found a large Wichita Indian village at the site; the river was later named after the tribe. The falls were originally five-foot tall; they washed away in a flood in 1886. After nearly 100 years of putting up with visitors that wanted see the non-existent falls, the city built an artificial waterfall.  it's 54 feet high and is visible to south-bound traffic on I-44.

To see the falls, you walk a little paved trail along the Wichita river behind the sewage treatment plant. It's best to hold your nose for part of the way. Then you arrive,

climb the 54-feet of stairs, reading the names of people inscribed on the bricks, and get a nice view of the city:

 

 

And if you're a small dog who has experienced a miraculous recovery of his sore legs from the day before, you don't see a bit of all this. But you do experience the delightful smells--

It was a pretty little river, although brownish as my picture shows. But the original falls were shorter than I am! Oh, well. I'd just as soon have seen them as not. Zack did a decent job walking around the trail and up the stairs to to the top of the falls, but on the walk back I carried him. As mentioned before and many times since, I can only stand a few minutes of walking at the speed of Zack.

We returned to a late lunch, a load of dishwashing and Mammoth Home cleanup, and a long dog walk. Molly and I went back to the day use area in hopes of seeing the little blue heron or immature Egret, whichever he was, but only after we'd walked the area twice did we realize that we weren't anywhere near (in walking distance) the boat ramp. It was around a bend in the lake--easy in a car, but confusing as heck at foot speed.

As we walked back, we heard a strange noise--a rhythmic clanking. Following it to its source, we found that the oil pump by the bathroom had turned on. It ran all night--we couldn't hear it from our campsite, but a few yards away, we could. It was lucky we hadn't chosen one of the closer sites.

 

Dinner was easy--we made a pot of rice and warmed up a container of Alton Brown's Shrimp Gumbo, created by me on the Sunday before leaving. I only put in a pound of shrimp--Alton calls for a pound and a half--but I threw in a package of crawfish. I was going to throw in a small can of crabmeat but I forgot. But at least I remembered the file powder this time.

Later we put away all the outside stuff, which only amounted to a dog leash, two pair of shoes, a pair of socks and my camp chair. We knew there was a chance of storms moving through, and sure enough when I did my evening dog walk, I could see a wink or two of lightning in the distance. I should have suggested that Ed take down the satellite dish, but I didn't think of it.

The storms weren't supposed to move in until 11:00pm, but when I went to the bathroom at around ten, I heard a suspicious tapping on the plastic skylight overhead. Rain? or acorns blowing off the nearby tree?

Rain. It sprinkled a little and then stopped, so I was able to go out and watch lightning flash the clouds for a little while. Then I went to bed.

And lay awake for a looonnnnngggggg time. It rained, sprinkled, poured, stopped; lightninged, thundered, flashed and grumbled. From the weather forecast I knew that severe weather wasn't likely, so I had no excuse not to curl up and enjoy the concert. But I didn't. One thing that might have caused trouble, which I didn't find out until next morning, was that someone had set the thermostat on 71--instead of the ice-cold 73 that he usually sets it on.  I was freezing cold all night, except when my tossing and turning brought on a hot flash and I threw the covers off.

When I woke up next morning, he had the heat on.

 
* A little history of the Texan Santa Fe Expedition

The expedition set out from Kenney's Fort near Austin on June 19, 1841. The expedition included 21 ox-drawn wagons carrying merchandise estimated to be worth about $200,000. Among the men were merchants that were promised transportation and protection of their goods during the expedition, as well as commissioners William G. Cooke, Richard F. Brenham, José Antonio Navarro, and George Van Ness. Although officially a trading expedition, the Texas merchants and businessmen were accompanied by a military escort of some 320 men. The military escort was led by Hugh McCleod and included a company of artillery.

The journey to New Mexico during the summer was blighted by poor preparation and organization, sporadic Indian attacks, and a lack of supplies and fresh water. After losing their Mexican guide, the group struggled to find its way, with no one knowing how far away Santa Fe actually was. McCleod was eventually forced to split his force and sent out an advance guard to find a route.

The expedition finally arrived in New Mexico in mid-September 1841. Several of their scouts were captured, including Capt. William G. Lewis. Having expected to be welcomed on their arrival, the expedition was surprised to be met by a detachment from the Mexican Army of about 1500 men sent out by the governor of New Mexico, Manuel Armijo. One of Armijo's relatives who spoke English, probably Manuel Chaves or Mariano Chaves, parleyed with the Texans, with Captain Lewis supporting his statements. Both said that Armijo would give the Texans safe conduct and an escort to the border, and Lewis swore to it "on his Masonic faith".[4] After the Texans' arduous journey, they were in no state to fight a force that outnumbered them so heavily, so they surrendered. The New Mexicans gave them some supplies.

However, the following morning, Armijo arrived with his army, had the Texans bound and treated harshly, and demanded the Texans be killed, putting the matter up to a vote of his officers. That night, the prisoners listened to the council debating the idea. By one vote, the council decided to spare the Texans. The latter were forced to march the 2,000 miles from Santa Fe to Mexico City. Over the winter of 1841–42, they were held as prisoners at the Perote Prison in the state of Veracruz, until United States diplomatic efforts secured their release.[5]

After the surviving Texans were released on June 13, 1842, one of the prisoners, Robert D. Phillips, wrote to his father that: "Many of the men are waiting only for the party of a man named Cook to arrive so they may continue on to Vera Cruz and then to New Orleans.[6] The men found their way to New Orleans on board various ships, among them the Henry Clay, which, according to the ship's manifest, arrived in New Orleans on September 5, 1842, carrying 47 "Volunteers of the Texan Army Santa Fe Prisoners."

Wednesday at Lake Arrowhead

 October 21

The plan for the day was fishing again. It was still awfully windy, or so it seemed back at camp. Once we got on the water it was very calm and lovely. We crossed the lake and resumed our search for good fishing spots but just didn't find much of anything.  On the other side of the dam was another cove filled with oil derricks, so we cruised over there to see. But we soon discovered that even a light wind sweeping the surface of a fairly large lake (16,000 acres) would build up whitecaps when you least expect them.

Eventually we gave up hunting and just found a spot with a lot of fish and started fishing. The trolling motor was able to hold us in place very well, but without any underwater structure to anchor them, there was nothing to hold the fish in place.

We each caught a blue catfish. Ed's was a decent size but mine was smallish. By then the water was so choppy that the boat rocking back and forth made it hard work to try and keep our bait from jigging up and down and right out of the mouth of a snatching fish. I'm not sure that I felt a single bite for the rest of the trip.

It was clearly time to go in, but I have to admit that when we got back into our boat ramp's sheltered cove, the water was as calm as you could hope for. If we hadn't thrown out all our minnows I'd have been temped to try for another 30 minutes or so.

Funny thing...as we launched that morning, there was an egret eating discarded minnows at the boat ramp. I didn't know they ate dead things like that...I've never seen it before. On second thought, I don't think it was an egret at all--I think it was a juvenile little blue Heron. I did look at the legs, wondering if it was a Great Egret or  a Snowy...but they appeared gray-ish, not black like I'd expect.

After a late lunch Molly and I had a long walk and found this pile of rocks with a bench on top:

 

 

 

We also tried (okay, I tried) to photograph the sandpipers on the water's edge. I just couldn't get a good shot and the camera was failing to focus. Something about the humidity in combination with the angle of the sun, I guess.  I got this killdeer (front left) with five little sandpipers.

 

 

 

 

A  better picture of the sandpipers still did not reveal what species they were:

 

 

 

 

Supper for Wednesday night was a new one for camping...RV camping, that is. We made hamburgers! Wow, sounds exciting, right? Except that I had to rush back from my walk with Molly to take a quick shower and start deep-frying potatoes--yum! As many times as we've eaten charred hamburgers cooked on a rusty campground grate over a dying wood fire, and enjoyed them, we'd enjoy them a lot more on our mini barbeque grill with charcoal, accompanied by french fried potatoes.

And so we did. I may have mentioned a few trips back that we'd replaced our ancient deep fryer with a lovely little Presto Pot that could be easily transported in our Mammoth under-seat storage compartments.  The cookpot and the little fryer basket can be submerged for deep cleaning, and its electric cord and temperature control nest nicely inside.

So I chopped half of a sweet potato to go with my Boca Burger, then chopped up two russet potatoes to go with Ed's full pound of beef made into two chunky patties. I filled the little pot with peanut oil--yum, oil! and proceeded to fry right 'em all up. And thus proved a point--the only thing better than sweet potato fries with ketchup is sweet potato fries with jalapeno ketchup.

Tuesday at Lake Arrowhead -- Attack of the One Dimensional Sticker Burs

October 20

Birds: mockingbird, some sort of wren, Killdeer, Northern Harrier, small falcon, Red-Tailed Hawk, Eastern Phoebe, woodpecker. probably ladder-backed, Pelicans.

Ed and I went fishing, even though it was way too windy to enjoy ourselves. He couldn't find any structure to fish, so after a long time hunting we went to fish the oil derricks. Had to tie up there--the trolling motor will keep us in the same spot, but the wind and waves will push us around a good deal in and around the spot. so using the trolling motor right next to an oil derrick in choppy water would have been asking for destruction.

The warning signs promised dire consequences to anyone climbing on one, but it explicitly said that tieing up a boat was permitted.  Made me wonder if they were in operation or not. There was grass growing on them.

Ed caught two little crappie right off the bat. One might have been twelve inches long. I didn't catch anything but I did eventually get myself hung around the "legs" of the derrick or something. I didn't lose my whole setup but did lose the jig at the bottom of my line; it might have been hooked on an old piece of rope some fisherman left just under the surface. 

After we came in, at around two, we took a long walk around to see if the prairie dog town had become occupied during the interim. Nope. I can't find an answer for it online, but I'm hoping they maybe just moved location. We did see a gaggle of geese and a couple of small sandpipers...least?  Along with the Killdeer.

That evening it became crystal clear that this campsite had a problem, other than the lack of view. It was the campsite of the 2-pronged Sticker Bur. Like fluff on the ground, easy to ignore on the soft edge, but possessing two sharp little thumbtacks that attached to our feet, our shoes, our rugs and our dogs. The dogs were the worst but I can't say we particularly enjoyed them attached to our feet either.

The campsite also has the normal sort of tiny bur, round but incredibly prickly and impossible to remove without pain both to the removing fingers and the site of attachment. Those were easy to see and spot. But these two-pronged burrs didn't hurt all that much. They were just awfully annoying.

Previously I'd often scoffed at the "camper area mats" I'd seen on camping supply websites. They seemed like still one more way to separate oneself from Mother Nature...and what do you go camping for, if not to bump noses with Mother Nature? But now I can see the value in something you can wipe your feet on before entering and exiting the RV. Typically we take off our sandals and leave them at the doorstep, but here, you can't take a chance on letting a bare foot accidentally contact the ground. It's hazardous!

Ed even threatened to leave his sandals on indoors. But we continued to leave them at the door, and would occasionally do a quickstep shuffle and cry, "Ouch!" Then we would stop whatever we were doing and pick the burr out of our feet.

Zack suddenly developed a serious limp in his right-front paw. He could barely walk. After looking many times (looking AND feeling) for tiny burrs in his paw, I gave up. It appeared to be a sprained wrist. I first tried giving him a little bit of lift using the leash attached to his walking harness, but that rubbed on the sort spots on his underneath (another story). Then I resurrected the old ring of cloth cut from the bottom of a teeshirt and looped it around his front legs. Gently lifting on that gave him enough of an ease to his limp that he was able to walk well enough to toilet properly.

Showers, supper and bedtime came too soon. I used the shower in the campground--it was extremely clean and well arranged, and completely empty of people. There were a couple of truck/car campers scattered here and there, but the place was still more empty than full. I only encountered one other person going into the bathroom as I exited one morning.

Gardening In My Roots, mid-November edition

I've been out tilling (until the tiller croaked!) and forking and digging, in preparation for the spring to come. I don't plan to do a winter garden, but if I can find that piece of glass I used to use for a cold frame, I might plant a little spinach.

Yesterday I got out the measuring tape and re-laid it out in the rectangle it's supposed to be--29' by 25'; five beds, each 5' wide by 25' long.  It's starting to look like a garden again!

I dug up this poor little critter's burrow. She seemed unharmed, just a little shell shocked. I hope she had time to find a new home before it turned cold overnight. Ed and I built her a little house with a pizza box roof and some clods of clay for walls.

Mammoth goes West...a little

Lake Arrowhead State Park  
Monday October 19 - Friday October 23
Weather expected: 70, 77, 87, 84, lows in low 60s, partly cloudy.

Route: US-380 est to Decatur, then US-287 north to Jolly, then a couple of FM roads to the park.  Google said 137 miles 2:29 although it took us a lot longer, as you'll see below.

The return trip was a slightly different route: 281 south to Jacksboro, then 380 east to McKinney. It was longer: 158 miles 2:55

The trip out was sort of routine, except for the brand-new Jeep Wrangler I was going to be driving. I was scared to death it was going to get dings, scratches, or a great big crack in the windshield like my car has. So I was planning to drive like a sheep might run in a flock of coyote--very, very cautiously with an exaggerated idea of personal space.

Even though we got the barest bones model of Wrangler that they'd sell us, it still had features that once upon a time we'd have considered luxury. A back-up camera, for one. A radio with bluetooth and a compass, intermittent wipers, and a few other things I can't call to mind right now but we found surprising.  I was so busy playing with all the toys, I failed to note down when we left. Probably around eleven o'clock. We only had a 2-1/2 hour drive after all.

Sadly, I also failed to notice one of the trailer tires going flat. (As usual, Mammoth is towing the boat and I'm following to keep an eye on it) At one point I saw a strip of rubber fly off the back of the right-hand tire and wondered if there might be a problem, but I sped up and checked to be sure that both tires on the right were turning. They seemed fine to me at that point, but about an hour later, Ed made an emergency stop on the shoulder. The front tire on the right was destroyed.

It turned out that we were very close to Bowie Texas, and there were at least two tire shops handy. One was less than ten minutes away--we limped along slowly and found it with little problem. But they didn't have a tire that size, so we went on up to "Hilltop Tire", which did.

 But as we were waiting for them to replace the tire, an experienced tire guy came out and pointed out that we were putting an auto tire on a trailer. What did we know?  It had auto tires on it when we bought it, although for a coincidence they'd been giving Ed a lot of trouble...he'd patched one or more of them multiple times, and he had been wanting to get the whole lot replaced.

By the way, you might ask, why were we at a tire shop at all?  Wouldn't it have been easier to simply put the spare tire on?  

That was the fault of the Jeep. The key for the spare tire's lock was in the truck, not the jeep, and so it was over an hour behind us.

The tire shop made us a decent price on "trailer tires", and knowing we were going to be doing this within a few weeks at the least, we went ahead and bit the bullet.  Thirty minutes or so later, we were on the road with four new tires and the best one of the old tires mounted in place of the old spare tire. (The shop was able to break the lock)

All told, it wasn't such a bad experience. We arrived at about 4 o'clock or so and quickly did hookups. For reasons unknown to us, the spot I'd reserved was actually a pull-through site even though the map clearly showed it as back-in. Since it was 85-feet long, we could park the Mammoth, boat trailer, and jeep without even unhooking the trailer. So all that time we typically consider as part of hook-up time was saved.

The campground was extremely empty. There were two trailers in our little circle, neither of them next to us. Most of the little circles are similarly empty.  Weird--so why had I had so much trouble reserving one of the spots I preferred?

I still have no idea. Best I can see (this is next day), if you include Thursday night in your available site search then the selection narrows down a lot. So I guess a lot of people come in on Thursday night and take a 3-day weekend.

The campground is also very flat, full of scrawny willow-like trees (we thought mesquite, but no thorns), and had no view or the lake. (Later: they were indeed mesquite) I was thinking from looking at the satellite images that we'd possible be able to see the lake past the tent camping area that circled us, but no. It's too spread out for that.

It reminded me a little of Honey Flats at Caprock Canyon, but there was a lot of space cleared around each campsite. We didn't feel closed in at all...but no view! However, compared to the last place we camped (the ugly side of Turkey Roost at Cedar Ridge with all the people crammed in), this was heaven.

On the drive over I was reminded of why I like going west--things start getting flatter and flatter and the tall trees are replaced with scrub and mesquite. You feel like you can see all the way to California...of course that's a wild imagination talking. I suspect there were a number of pioneers with similarly wild thoughts who ended up disappointed. When the mesquite and thin prairie grasses spread farther and farther apart, dust storms blow across wide, treeless plains, and on that goes for seemingly forever. When they could at last see mountains in the far distance, it must have seemed like a miracle.

After we arrived and unhooked, we took a walk over in search of the prairie dog colony...but it was no more. You could see where they'd been, fairly recently, if the grass in and around the holes was any indication. But no dogs.

 

 

 

Canada Geese

Rev. Clare Fergusson rides again

 Through the Evil Days

by Julia Spencer-Fleming

Long anticipated book number 8 in the series, and it didn't disappoint one bit. I don't even want to write about it--it was so good I probably wouldn't do it justice.

One strange thing, as good as Ms. Fleming's books are, when I went back and tried to re-listen to some of the ones I'd downloaded as audiobooks a few years ago, I found that I didn't enjoy them the second time around. I ended up deleting the lot. Was I too hasty?  Or, more likely, was the writing so good that you "got it" all the first time?

Some writers have subtle surprises in a book that you'll only pick up on a second reading. I was expecting to find this in her books, but I guess not. Or it could be that the process of listening to an audiobook was so much more immersive than reading the pages that I got it all in a single listen. Very possibly so.

Mountains Beyond Mountains: The Quest of Dr. Paul Farmer, a Man Who Would Cure the World
by Tracy Kidder

I'm embarrassed to admit that I got bored reading this. It was simply a biography of a great man.  There wasn't any technical detail about the diseases he encountered--in fact, I know that a great deal of the book dealt with cases of MDR TB but if I hadn't already known what that was, I would have had to look it up to understand the book.

And like a lot of biographies, there was no "plot" that would keep me interested. That's logical, of course--human lives don't have a plot, in general. But still he could have structured some of the chapters to simulate a little suspense, couldn't he?

Inspired but my legs got tired

Don't Stop Me Know:
26.2 Miles of a Runner's Obsession

by Vassos Alexander


As a reader, I only asked this book to give me a push and a bit of inspiration for my own running.  Okay, call it "jogging." And it did do that, and more.

He mixes his own experience at the time of a marathon with essays looking back in his life and interviews with other runners. I liked his personal stories the best, although I can't help wondering what is wrong with him that he would push himself through pain to run races. There's a difference between "pain that you recognize is just part of pushing yourself hard" and "pain that is likely a sign of injury", and he describes a whole lot of the latter. I'm surprised he's still running.

But he writes well and I recommend the book despite the pain of reading it.

The not so good and the not so bad

 Death Overdue
A Haunted Library Mystery
by Allison Brooke


No, I don't think so. There's a fairly clever side story about a ghost in the library, one whom only the heroine and a small girl (niece?) can see. But that isn't able to hold its own against the slog of the mystery. Yeah, it's cleverly written, and yeah, the people are decently likeable. There was just enough amusement to keep me reading...but not enough to make me want more.

Sorry not to like it, though. I think the author did a good job. Most likely she'll get a following of satisfied readers and forge on to better things, and if that happens, I'll try again.

Laying Down the Paw

AARGH!  I hate what she does, and I hate it that I like her books despite the hate! She gets inside the heads of too many people. When reading a mystery, I only want to be inside one person's head. But she added a second one, a dog's, and that was okay and even very funny. I like the dog. . Yeah, the dog sometimes tells us things that the person doesn't know, spoiling the suspense, but you kind of guessed them anyway so it was okay.

For example, the officer (lead character; wants to make detective some day) is searching an area, finds nothing, quit and goes away. Her dog, though, notes that the person who gave her yummy treats was hiding in the area. Too bad.

But then the author insists on adding another person's head and I hate hate hate that. Yes, she does a good job. But it ruins any chance of the book being a mystery at all--there's no mystery. In the first book I read, she was in the head of the person committing the robberies and yes, she was portraying how a weak-willed but not altogether bad person can get caught up in crime and end up doing awfully bad things. It was an interesting character study, but for me it ruined the story.

And in this one she gets in the head of a kid who is connected with the crimes. I can't go into detail but I ended up liking the kid and wanting to know how he turned out. But still, once again, it ruined the story. And to add insult to injury she left an occasional detail deliberately vague, to build up the tension and make us wonder--did he or didn't he? No, no!  That is not my idea of storytelling.

I don't want any "unreliable narrators" in my murder mysteries, plain and simple. If I did, I'd read literature.

On a series of dog mysteries...bear with me

Bone Yard and Silent Night
Raine Stockton Dog Mysteries #4 and 5
by Donna Ball

Bone Yard was good, but Silent Night was great. It had a touch of humor, especially in the first few chapters, that pushed it over into 'great' territory. Great to me, anyway. I can understand why these books may not be everybody's personal favorites--they're too cozy for serious police procedurals but a little too edgy for people wanting a "warm blanket" kind of story. Her relationship with law enforcement is tenuous at best--her ex-husband is the police chief and her uncle the former police chief. So she gets tips and gets away with behavior that would have a normal person behind bars.

Her dogs are the stars of the show. Mischief and Magic are Aussies (I think), which I assume stands for Australian Shepherds. Both have more energy and intelligence than they know what to do with, so they work it out in amusing little pranks. And Cisco, the young and undisciplined Golden Retriever, is more than likely to find the human scent he's supposed to be tracking, alert his handler, and then run off chasing squirrels. He tries to be good, but has lousy impulse control.

That's the best I can explain. The mysteries are well plotted; the action keen; and the personal complications realistic and not all "angsty" as some mystery writers tend to make them. Yeah, she questions her attraction to the neighbor who is responsible for bringing in development that might turn her beloved mountain into a tourist hub, but she doesn't agonize over it.

Wednesday and Thursday at Belton Lake

Wednesday October 7, 2020

Nothing disastrous happened on Tuesday night, and so far, on Wednesday. Ed let me choose whether to go driving over to see the piddly little waterfalls or go fishing again, and since we still had minnows, fishing won. We explored some more of the lake and found no good spots at all--actually, there was one spot I wanted to try but Ed didn't think it worth the trouble--and then came back to our normal hot spot with all the brush piles and things. The lake is marvelously beautiful and only built up with people's houses in intermittent spots. I can imagine in twenty years the lakeside will be lined with homes, but for now there are huge areas of trees, cliffs, underbrush, and gloriously unoccupied nothing.

We didn't catch much, but oddly enough, just when they'd stopped biting on a previous occasion--two o'clock--they started. The fish that we could see had been stationary, but all of a sudden they started moving around and tracking anything that looked edible. Someone must have warned them that we were about to quit feeding them.

Since we were leaving the next day, there was no point in prolonging the fishing. We packed up our gear and headed back, arriving in mid-afternoon. I had a small ton of dishes to do, then dogs to walk and a shower to take. But I ate lunch first and by the time I was done with the other necessary items (dishes and dogs), it was too late to worry about a shower.

During the walk I saw the thing I'd been looking for--a canyon wren. Too amazing--I'd been trying to get a picture of one for the last two trips and I'd pretty much given up trying. I'd not really for sure even heard any. But this time Molly and I were walking along the street and crossed over a large culvert pipe under the road where a dry stream bed crossed--and there he was. Bobbing a little and letting out a bit of a peep that reminded me of the canyon wren's song...a very white breast, absolutely no white stripe through the eye and I could even call it it a dark stripe, very reddish-brown tail and back, absolutely gorgeous The only field mark I didn't verify was the long, curved beak.

Of course I didn't have the camera.

Dinner was going to be a bit of a production--sushi, tempura vegetables, and frozen pre-breaded tempura shrimp. I cut up vegetables and made the tempura batter while Ed prepared the rice balls for the sushi. Only problem was, we started the rice way too late and ended up having to wait almost half an hour for it to cool enough that he could handle it. We didn't start "cooking" until six (I think). In fact, Edward decided to eat his dessert first so that he wouldn't end up overstuffed and have to miss it.

Wise decision, since we didn't get started eating until nearly eight. After that the day was pretty much over.  The dogs got a short walk each, and bedtime arrived.

Thursday October 8

Packing up; driving home. So routine it wasn't worth writing about. Maybe next trip will have something to show for it.

We left the park at 11:17; stopped at Buc'ees in Temple for about 10 minutes at 11:40. Arrived home at about ~3:05, and by 4:06 we were hooked and unpacked.

NOTES:
1. Totally unrelated to camping--my bottom oven seems to cook a little hotter than the setting indicates. Plus, when you're cooking the graham cracker crust for a cheesecake, short the time by at least 3-4 minutes.
2. Always take the dumb camera on dog walks.

Tuesday at Belton Lake

 October 6 2020

The agenda for the day was fishing, but the weather was weird. It was very overcast and very cool. I forgot to bring my jacket on the boat, but I was able to use Ed's (when he took it off.) I was still wearing it at about noon, when the clouds lifted and the sun blasted down its evil waves of heat  upon us. It was (almost) unpleasantly hot for the rest of the time out there.

When we had launched the boat, we'd discovered that there was another day of the fishing tournament underway. A large number of boats were gathered around the dock and hovering nearby--I asked a guy walking out there and he said that they were on a break. Sure enough, in a little while a car horn sounded and all the boats took off again.

We went downstream and then turned left up a little creek, partly to get away from the wakes created by all the boats coming and going at high speed, and partly just to see what was there.  It turned out that there really wasn't much of anything there. Houses on cliffs on the north side of the lake; low banks on the south and a bunch of cabins, which I believe were part of Cedar Ridge Park.  And no fish to speak of.

Later we went exploring, hunting for another good spot near the boat ramp, but found no big fishes anywhere. No birds, either. Although I think this was the day I saw three small falcons cavorting by the water's edge.

Taking Molly for a walk was painful, and not just because my leg hurt from Sunday's fall. I went at about 4:30, assuming I'd get back before the deer came out and Edward arrived. But the deer were out at 4:30. Technically, at this campground, I'm not sure they have a schedule. They hang out on the grass in the pavilion area, and all day long they cross the road and cross back.

Molly is learning, but not so quickly as she needs to, not to lunge forward on a leash. I made her stand and watch the deer until she could calm herself down enough to walk beside me. Cruel, but necessary if she's ever going to get to go anywhere. Bird watching is impossible with her, but I wasn't suffering too much at the present because there weren't all that many birds to watch.

Our walk got cut shortish because whichever way I turned, there were deer. But that's okay because Edward returned and we went to check out the Disc Golf Course called Heritage Park. Not having any kind of map of the course, we didn't know where to start. The hole they (not we, I skipped playing for reasons involving dogs on leashes) played first was #2, and it was extremely long even for a par four. I think they each shot seven or eight, but no one was keeping score.

Then hole #3 went right through a deeply wooded creek bed. By then they were beginning to understand the lay of the course, so they chose to skip hole #3 and do the next one, #4, then #18, then #1. Those holes were pleasant although it wouldn't hurt the caretakers to do a little more mowing in places.

It would have been fun to do the whole course, but night was falling and Zack was getting tired, and both guys were getting hungry.  I suspect. Me, I'm always hungry when camping. Meals are variable and physical activity is increased even if we don't do anything special. For example, dogs can't be put in the back yard to walk themselves--every step they take, I take too. The steps up into the front door are huge; climbing in and out of the boat is a major ordeal, and even climbing into the Ford F250 pickup truck takes me both hands on the strap and a jump.

The guys ate the chicken, sausage and rice casserole I'd made with no complaints, and Edward overate it, but I didn't think it tasted very good at all. It was incredibly bland to start with, and freezing and reheating didn't improve it any. I guess Edward could consider it home cooking as opposed to fast food, so it was somewhat good for him. Without a single green vegetable--just onions, a little red bell pepper, and a cup of cooked beans.

Birds so far:
Grackle, Great Tailed. Mockingbirds. Vultures, Turkey and Black. Eastern Bluebird. On the water, l Great Blue Heron, Neotropic Cormorant, a strange little water bird that I didn't get a good look at, and Kingfisher (only one.) A flycatcher that had a very yellow belly but no crest--it could have been Couch's, but I didn't think to look carefully, Two or three Kestrels in and out of a treetop near the water.

At Cedar Ridge Belton Lake, Days 2 and 3

 Sunday October 4

Sunday morning, still no birds. Where did all the canyon wrens go? Are they simply silent for the winter, or are they still singing their annoying little ditty on the other side of the campground?

Lots of deer in the morning.  Well...lots, as in four. Then one later. Molly thought there were lots.

Pretty flowers all over,


We gave Edward the option of going fishing or playing disc golf, and strangely, he chose fishing. So after the obligatory run for camping donuts (yeah, you heard that correctly), the guys got some minnows while I gave the dogs a long, delicious walk, and off we went in the boat.

The boat ramp was packed. There were two paved trailer parking lots and one gravel overflow lot, and all of those had trailers in them. And a lot of pickup trucks, too. We later learned there was a tournament going on. There also appeared to be a little party in the grassy area next to the boat ramp, because at least forty people and children were gathered around and they had a little ceremony shortly after noon. We couldn't hear what it was all about, nor did we care to hear--we were fishing.

The crappie spot was easy to find and proved productive. I had three small ones and a tiny little perch; Ed had a few, and for the first time, Edward! He had at least two decent sized ones--I thought they said thirteen inches but it might have been fourteen--and they were deifnitely keepers. Sadly, we weren't keeping.

One of them thrashed around so violently that it tangled my line with his--I was fishing about three feet behind him and I didn't pull in fast enough. You never know what a fish will do, though, and I should have anticipated the snarl. Edward untangled the line and it took him a good while...I felt guilty at not doing it myself, but I forgot that I had my glasses handy for once.

At about two o'clock the fish stopped biting. Why knows? I've seen it before, but never expect it until it happens.

So it should have been a lovely evening with barbequed chicken and family, but stupid Molly ruined it. We had an incident with a neighbor's dog; we offered to pay the vet bills but they left camp next day and never came back to tell us how much money we owed them. I am very sorry.

Monday October 5

Monday had better have a better ending than the day before--I was determined of it. No mistakes, no loose dogs, and no neighbors with locked door disasters.

We had a leisurely breakfast, sans Edward, of course. I guessed my hopes of feeding him pancakes were gone, this trip. After that I washed dishes, took a shower, put away dishes and helped with preparations for "the big move." Our new campsite was about a hundred yards from the old one, but it was right by the water and I could walk the dogs without squeezing my way though other people's campsites. There were many more open spaces than there had been the night before, but I still would have guessed it at one-quarter to one-third full. According to a lady we spoke with last night, they close down all the campgrounds on Belton Lake except this one (and only this side of it) and the one on the north side of the dam. We had driven through that one and were not impressed.

Other than the move, I didn't make any notes for the day. Molly and I took a long walk, over to the other camping area and along the water. We didn't see this

falcon there, but we enjoyed it all the same. The falcon pic came from the fishing trip next day.

Mammoth in Search of Our Progeny. Again.

Turkey Roost Campground, Cedar Ridge Park on Lake Belton
Saturday, October 3 - Wednesday, October 7

The route should have been simple--repeat the same route we'd taken every time before. But...Ed had previously complained about a little "cut through" he wanted to avoid, so, when he hit the loop around Waco, he overrode my directions. Instead of taking a left turn--south on the loop, he went north. That of course put us in the center Waco right in the middle of the stupid road construction that our South loop was designed to avoid.

But, oddly enough, it wasn't as bad as it had been in the past. Not the construction--it was as narrow and congested as always. But the Motorhome Driver was more experienced now--he was getting uncannily good at knowing where his tires were. And the boat trailer tires, too. I will propose taking the I-35 route all the way next time and we'll see.

So what with the "short cut", we left home at about 11:25 and arrived at about 3:05, with only one short bathroom break. (Google considers this a 2:45 trip; we took 3:10) Although the drive was somewhat routine, getting ready was a bear. On Friday I had been doing contract work until about 3 o'clock in the afternoon, before starting my cooking. I was making a Chicken and Sausage Paella, a cheesecake, some roasted vegetables with "Basil Pistau", and my normal travel day lunch, Crab Rollups. The Basil Pistau lost out really fast and the roasted vegetables nearly did, too. The only reason they got made was because I needed something to do while the Cheesecake baked. Or should I say burned? It was most definitely burned around the edges.

I gave up cooking at seven o'clock and decided to do the crab in the morning. Which made the morning stink pretty bad--I barely had time for a short jog and in fact, cut it even shorter because I couldn't take the route I preferred--too many people on the road.  So all in all, Ed ended up having to wait on me, which never happens, and we didn't get away from the house until around eleven-thirty.

The Corp of Engineers had closed down the eastern loop of the campground and crammed all the people into one side. This appears to be a seasonal thing, due to lack of demand, but this year there was a lot of demand.  We were lucky to get a spot at all, especially on a Saturday. (I couldn't get anything at all on Friday) But the spot turned out to be pretty nice and had plenty of space on three sides around it. There were people really close on our backside, but who cared? They were nice people.

Molly and I took a walk to see if there was a boat ramp on that side of the campground (there was) and we saw some deer on the way back. Leastways, I saw some deer. They were skulking in the woods--Molly smelled them, but I don't think she actually saw any. She saw and smelled this:

No birds at all, except vultures and crows. Not even a canyon wren! They're probably all down at the other end of the campground where the people are not.

But we didn't come here to see birds, although I did harbor a secret desire to get a good picture of a canyon wren. We came to see Edward, and he arrived at about five. It was good to be together for a day. He'd have to go back to work on Monday, but hopefully no more all nights "in the field" would be scheduled.

Funny thing happened, just as Ed was finishing grilling supper. The lady from the campsite by the water came over--she'd locked herself out of her RV. Actually, the RV locked her out: she closed the door and it locked behind her. So she came over to use our phone. She got hold of a locksmith and they said they'd call her back.

But, of course, that would be on Ed's phone. He and Edward went over to try to pick the lock and wait with her while the locksmith service finished another job. It took them a long time, so after waiting for a while I went ahead and did the dogs' evening walk. I walked for about an hour, total, but part of that was spent trying to find lock-picking tools for the guys to try.

As they waited, they discussed various things and discovered that the lady actually had Triple-A and could have called it instead of a local locksmith. But her membership card, along with her purse and phone, was locked in the RV. We shouldn't ever have that problem because not only is our Good Sam card in Ed's wallet, he has their app downloaded on his phone. Our lock won't lock automatically like hers did, but it's very likely I could pull the trick of losing the keys at any time. (Like I did in Arkansas!)

Listening was a treat. And scary.

The Alienist
by Caleb Carr

Impossible not to fall in love with this. Gory and gruesome to the max. A whole lot of mystery and intrigue and history out the whazoodle. If it hadn't been so clearly written in present time, looking backward, you'd have thought you were there in 1890s New York City. I listened to the audiobook and I occasionally went back and re-listened to a section just because I wanted to hear it again.

One odd thing--I assume that the Mr. Roosevelt he includes in his cast of characters is the Theodore Roosevelt, soon to become president of the nation. But at one point the author refers to him as Mr. President...was that a mistake or did I mis-hear?  Because at the time he was just a police commissioner or some such bureaucrat.

Mr. Carr left himself open to writing a whole series of books starring the same cast of characters, and it does appear that he's written a sequel, but I'll have to carefully consider some of the very negative reviews it's gotten.

Could read walking books all day long if they were all like this

Listening for Coyote

A Walk Across Oregon's Wilderness

by William L. Sullivan

I wish Mr. Sullivan would walk across every state and write a book about them, each and every one.  I'd read them with complete happiness.

His walking story is personal, historical, topical and gregarious-ical. Whatever you call it--the stories of people he meets. And of course Coyote, who follows him metaphysically. They only meet once, that I remember, but are always together in thought.

He's a great writer and a great walker. What more can I say?

One night early on, when he had a rare companion, he wrote this:

It was the first clear night of the trip--and what a spectacle it was! Blue-white Vega beamed precisely overhead, yellow Arcturus shimmered to one side, and across the whole blazed the Milky Way, glowing so brightly that the dark, mottled dust clouds of the galaxy's arm stood out in sharp relief.

In the stillness of the night, the unseen gravity pressing our backs against the dark meadow seemed like an untrustworthy force--as if it might suddenly fail, and we would go hurtling off into the galaxy on edge before us.

Been there. Want to be there again.

Lasts as long and entertains as much as a half-hour game show

 Witch Hunt
by Cate Conte

I finished it and I wasn't bored...but I'm not particularly interested in another. It was a weird mishmash of murder mystery and identity reveal--the lead character suddenly discovers she's a witch, and oh, by the way, she needs to solve a murder. Which was more or less absolutely boring. The witch part was pretty good--why didn't she stick to that?

Saturday and Sunday at Brooken Cove

 Saturday September 19

Saw two lone scissortails in fields today, blowing my theory about the fall congregations...or else these hadn't gotten the word yet. My theory was that in fall, scissortails leave their lonely existence in the grassy fields and congregate along lake shores, where they fuss and scream at each other until the time is right to head south. I'm no longer sure that theory is sound, but you cannot argue that there are always a lot of scissortails around lake shores in the fall.

I got in a jog to the other camping loop and around, but I must have cut it short somehow because it only took fifty minutes. Then we packed our cooler and went on a road trip.

The object of the exercise was to check out a few campgrounds nearby and see if their descriptions online matched reality. Answer: not in the slightest. Campground descriptions are absurdly subjective, it seems. I'm sure the people camping next to us would describe the one we're at as a "beautiful place" and they "had a great time"--but my description would involve words like "sucky", "boring," and "noisy."

Before looking at campgrounds, we decided to check out the Sequoia Wildlife Preserve, at the junction of the Canadian and Arkansas River. According to Google it had a couple of handicapped-accessible walking trails and a six-mile auto tour. It was a pleasant drive, and their signage was excellent. Even though we met not a single worker, host, or employee of the Forest Service, we found everything easily.

And it was a great place. No, we didn't see any wildlife to speak of--it was midday by the time we arrived. In the winter we might have seen flocks of snow geese and the water might have been exploding with ducks, but it was too early in the year for all that. I did see a small flock of White Pelicans and a single gull, along with the usual Great Egret and Blue Heron.

The preserve has several fields planted with corn and some smaller crop, probably soybeans, that look like they will be left for food. The mission of the National Wildlife Preserves is not what you'd think--they're not about preserving "wildlife." They're about preserving game for hunters. It's trendy and cool to put in an occasional "nature drive" or a handicapped accessible walkway, and that sort of thing might bring in an occasional out-of-state visitor, but the real purpose for these "preserves" is to keep the cash flowing from hunters' game licenses and fishers' fishing licenses. Even though I'm a card-carrying treehugger myself, I appreciate hunters. Not on my own property, of course, but they serve a useful purpose--they keep these natural areas out of private hands.

We met a guy fishing with his little boy; he explained a bunch of complicated rules about the various areas of water that were marked off with buoys to warn motor boat traffic away. Not that we saw any motor boats--it was a delightfully empty place. We saw as few as six people the whole hour we were there.

I took the opportunity to drop my binoculars--hard--on the concrete and destroy them.

As we were driving through Oklahoma, I found a radio station that was sponsored by the Chickasaw tribe. I enjoyed listening to it--they played public service announcements, oldies, and some current country music. But, I wondered, why Chickasaw?  I thought the eastern half of Oklahoma was dived up between Cherokee, Creek (central), Choctaw and Seminole--but I was flat wrong. It is actually Cherokee (northeast), Choctaw (southeast), Chickasaw (south-central) and Osage (north-central). The Chickasaw have the area to the south-center while we were in the southeast and northeast, but the radio station is broadcast from multiple transmitters all over.

There was some interesting news about the Indian tribes in Oklahoma recently. The Supreme Court ruled on July 9th that if a Native American is involved, certain major crimes committed within the boundaries of reservations must be prosecuted in federal court rather than state court. So if a Native American is accused of a major crime in downtown Tulsa, the federal government rather than the state government will prosecute it. Less serious crimes involving Native Americans on American Indian land will be handled in tribal courts.

But hearing that made me curious--who owns the land? It turns out that just because the boundaries of the nation are marked on the map, that/doesn't mean the tribe owns all the land there. It's analagous to a county line--a county doesn't own all the land within the county. It's more of a jurisdictional boundary, and in fact, the nation probably doesn't own very much of that land. But, oddly enough, they can make a killing by operating casinos.

Oklahoma Indian gaming revenues have risen 15 straight years — reaching nearly $4.4 billion in 2016.  Oklahoma tribes are required to pay fees to the state based on the amount of revenue they derive from Class III games such as slot machines, blackjack, craps and roulette.

Many tribes also operate Class II and Class I games, but do not have to share with the state any revenues derived from those games. Class II games are bingo and bingo-style games, and include electronic versions of bingo that resemble slot machines. Class I games include traditional Indian games that may be a part of tribal ceremonies and celebrations and social gaming for minimal prizes.

Another change brought by the Supreme Court decision is to give the tribes a bigger say over oil and gas wells, refineries, and pipelines — including those running to the Cushing hub of the Keystone XL. <quote> With the high court’s ruling, oil and gas drillers in the nation’s fourth largest oil-producing state suddenly find themselves operating within the Muscogee (Creek) Nation and four other tribal reservations.  Instead of dealing with business-friendly regulators from the state of Oklahoma, oil producers may soon have to contend with both tribes and the federal government, which often manages land for Native Americans.

Anyway, back to the trip--I can't write in detail about all the places we visited because I haven't reviewed the maps and notes to sum them up. There are some really pretty places, especially Tenkiller State Park, but they don't seem to be in full operation. At Tenkiller there were a few poorly placed full hookup sites, all in use, and a whole bunch of lovely water+electric sites with the connections disconnected. The boxes were open and the wiring hanging loose. Why, I cannot imagine. (Or determine by searching online.)

We went to two Corp Of Engineers parks that were okay but the sites were mostly short and poorly situated. And, I believe, closing for the winter at the end of October. The drive was pretty but I wouldn't call it mountainous. It's like if you took the Arkansas Ozarks, shortened them by half and cut out every other hill. Bumpy but not at all scenic.

We returned disappointed. There may be some great campsites up farther north, but they'll have to wait for another day.

I finally saw a bird in this crummy little campground--a Belted Kingfisher. Just once, and he flew away immediately.

Sunday September 20

Pancakes for breakfast! They turned out very well, I think, although a judicious application of real butter and real maple syrup would have made a distinct difference.

Meal summary and critique: salmon, skewers and baked potato--excellent as always. Barbequed chicken and salad--very good. Leftover salmon, gumbo, rice and salad--also very good. Steak and shrimp fajitas, guacamole and salad--excellent except I accidentally fixed the shrimp the day before so they spent an extra day in the marinade which had lime juice. That didn't ruin it, but it didn't help it either. I'd prefer chicken for myself, which I might do next time. Free range beef would be best but I can't expect my chef to keep one piece of meat separate from the other. Then on the last day, leftover chicken, skewered vegetables and salad. Marvelous choices, all.

I got in a quick jog and then made the pancakes while I wrestled with a huge load of dirty dishes left over from the night before. On the night before a moving day, I really need to take the effort to wash all the dishes--even if we're going to mess up more during breakfast, it's worth the trouble.

All that took longer than it should have and we didn't leave until 12:18. There was no rush--it was only a three hour drive.

The truck had developed a scary rattle on the right side, underneath, around the middle. Ed checked, and the only likely cause he could find were some worn out rubber pads around the brackets that hold the muffler on. I drove carefully, listening to the ratttle and cringing, until I finally got on a smooth road and up to speed where either the noise stopped or I stopped being able to hear it due to the engine noise.

The route home was just as horridly messed up with road construction as the one up. For future note, here are the bad spots:
-- From six miles north of  MacAlester until the city limits; the entire southbound lanes were obliterated and both sides were squeezed onto the two narrow lanes of the northbound side.
-- From the highway 131 exit on down to somewhere; I didn't notice where. Just a single lane closure on each side.
-- From Caney to Caddo; both directions squeezed onto one side; very bad.
-- Around the northern approach to Durant, the construction was over but the lane marker painting was not done and the orange barrels were still sitting around.
== All around the Choctaw Casino/Resort at Calera; concrete walls were up; lanes were rerouted; and it was altogether bad. But I don't remember any lane closures there.
-- All around Sherman, Texas,. There were walls and construction zones and they weren't marked, flagged or given any warnings about. You were just driving along one minute and the next, WHAM! There it was and you were squeezing gingerly alongside a wall.
-- Intermittently all through the north part of Texas, no construction but huge potholes. I avoided most of them but hit one square on. Wham.

We accomplished a quick and efficient refueling stop at ta VPRacing Truck Stop in Savanna. It took nine minutes, cost $59.57. We took on 28.9 gallons to fill the tank. Then we arrived at the house by 3:46, so that made the total trip including the one stop at three hours and twenty-eight minutes. not bad.

NOTES

1. A bad site in a good campground is a hundred times better than a good site in a bad campground.
2. Stay off US-75 and US-69 for the foreseeable future. Maybe by Christmas they'll be driveable.
3. A long day trip can make a bad camping site bearable.
4. Some wildlife refuges are must better developed for non-hunters than you'd expect. This makes a second one we went to that had a decent, well-marked driving tour. But try especially hard to find a map ahead of time--the roads inside the refuges are not necessarily shown on Google Maps.
5. A lot of COE parks are closed in the winter.