Skunked, and other adventures

Every spring break, Claudia Mullis and I would load up our four children, Jackie, Ellen, Marcus and Max, and strike out in search of adventure.  Once, when the boys were all baseball crazy, we went to a lot of Grapefruit League games down in Florida -  spring training for the Major League players. The kids watched their heroes play ball, collected baseball cards and autographs, and had a fine time.

 The beach was always a biggie, and Disney World, and the alligator farm, and so on, but we loved the mountains the most, with all the state parks and the hiking and nature trails.

One foggy evening, we had the misfortune of running over a skunk.  We could hardly stand being in the car, it smelled so bad.  Claudia reminded me that even a year later, when we were at Epcot, we were able to locate our vehicle in that sea of cars, just from the stench.

Our gang: Ellen Frances, Marcus, Jackie and Maxwell



Another time, we stopped by a mountain stream for a picnic.  Between throwing stones in the water and splashing each other and slipping on rocks and falling in, all four ended up soaked to the skin: shoes, socks, sweatshirts, jeans, jackets, everything.  We drove our shivering brood to the nearest Walmart and suited them up in dry clothes, then stuffed the wet ones, dirty and smelling,  into garbage bags lashed to the car's roof  with bungee cords.

Later in the day, when we were somewhere between Cade's Cove, Tennessee and Pigeon Forge, one of the Daddys in Valdosta got a phone call:  "This is the Tennessee State Patrol.  Do you own a beige 1985 Jeep Wagoneer with a Lowndes County, Georgia license plate?"  "Y-y-y-yes..."  Fear was setting in.  "Sir, the license number of this vehicle was called in by concerned motorists. Clothes and shoes have been blowing off of it for 15 miles up and down Highway 321."

Happy times.  And nobody enjoyed them more than Claudia and me.