Bugged in Alabama

For a small trailer we have a boatload of critters traveling with us. Now we've added a tarantula. Picked it up at the Elks Lodge campground in Slidell, Louisiana near New Orleans. Figure it'll stake out, find and eat the two scorpions that have been skittering across the floor.

Our spot under a Spanish moss-draped oak.

This Elks Lodge needs some TLC. Its pool was empty except for a foot of what looked like sludge on part of the bottom. Place needs a paint job and some general clean-up but we'll give the members a break. Hurricanes and generally hot humid weather have done a number on lots of buildings in this part of the state.

There is an interesting culture back in these swamps. The natives are a breed of tiny people called "Swamp Dwarves". They're kind of like leprechans only they don't drink as much. And they're not green. 
When they die they're buried in these sectioned coffins (a regular-sized coffin is cut into four sections and you can stuff four, maybe five of the little buggers in). You see the damndest things back in the bayou.

Such as this. Paul's hot new camouflage PJs that he picked up at WalMart. They were out of the "XL" size and only had the XXXL. Damn near as wide as the trailer. There's nothing like Paul walking along and suddenly them babies fall to his ankles. Yes, he belongs back here.

But Daisy says, "If you tink dem camo pants is cool, check dis out. How cool is dis?"

After Slidell, we moved onto Foley, Alabama for a stay at the Gulf Coast Elks Lodge. Well off the highway. Full hook-ups. $20 a night.

But the park housed a lot of permanently parked trailers, both the FEMA variety and one that was awful.

This sort of thing is rather shocking to see at an Elks venue but we discovered that the park was independent of Elks management. Elks members get a $5 a night break for staying there.

Anyway, the trailer above was home to a former local chef who crashed his motorcycle and suffered a traumatic head injury. Tipped the poor guy off the edge. He lives in this rundown rig without any electricity--that means no A/C in this brutal climate--and throws his beer cans and trash right out the window. Pretty sad. But we were told that he's now eligible for public assistance including counseling so maybe his life will take a turn for the better. Hope so.

And if anyone wants to know how Daisy takes to 90 degrees and 95% humidity, well, this is it. She passes out with her nose on the cold floor. She's an Arizona dog. Remember: it's a dry heat. Like an oven.

The saving grace is that close to Foley is this place, the city of Fairhope. In our opinion, one of the best kept small towns in America. It puts Tiburon on San Francisco Bay, Newport Beach, and the Hamptons to shame. Why can't all of our towns and cities be like this?

Fairhope is right along Mobile Bay. There's not a piece of litter to be found. All of the homes are well kept. Restaurants and shops are inviting. And so on and so forth. 

If you're ever traveling I-10 east of Mobile across the causeway, drop south about ten miles and spend an afternoon in Fairhope. You'll want to move there. That is until a hurricane changes your mind. And they are not infrequent here.

What the hell is this? Well, it's more Fairhope.

Daisy's hot. Gotta get some factory air goin'. Bye.