Hello, Mutter! Hello, Farter! Here I am at Camp Grand-Martyr.
While, Anne is singing,”I am the very model of a dutiful daughter.” I am left to fend for myself. Or rather, I wish that I was left alone, because there are always hordes of mosquitoes buzzing about me and when they bite me, I welt-up like a SOB. Lately, though the wind has kicked up and today I was able to walk the beach with Anne, at her pace, which also is the same one that those flying, six-legged demons seem to prefer, but because of the blessed wind, they were no where to be seen. Golf balls were the walk’s theme. I collected 18 of them. The first few had washed up, but most of them had to be fished out of the water. Where they came from is anyone’s guess.
These balls had positive buoyancy, but only just so. After I had waded out to them, if I tried to spear them and missed, they would sink and take long seconds to resurface. My last experience with golf ball retrieval was in in junior high. When we were living in Maryland, my brother and I would sneak into the Congressional Golf Course, fish golf balls out of the water hazards and then sell them for pennies on the dollar, on the back nine. Those balls had sunk to the bottom. The groundskeepers would occasionally try to shoo us off, but their hearts were never ever in it. What eventually curtailed this rather lucrative trade, was leeches, which we came home with one day. I’ve always suspected those groundskeepers of seeding the water hazards with them.
We partied last night with Anne, Bill and Liz. Liz left today making me the baby again on Curmudgeon Court. Sam and John blew by today, from Atlanta or Newberry, depending upon your point of view. We hope to visit their cabin later this week. John has promised me that they don’t have mosquitoes.