...Mourning

I sincerely apologize to all of you for my silence of late. The truth is, two very prominent figures in my life have passed away over the past week, and I've been having a little trouble focusing.

Last Thursday night George N. Parks passed away from a sudden heart attack. He was a man of grace, passion, and most of all, pride. I had the great fortune of spending two high school summers learning from him at his Drum Major Academy. It was because of this man that I was able to develop my leadership abilities, and his teachings still ring strongly within me whenever I am faced with an opportunity to lead others. Rest in Peace, GNP. With Pride.

Myself, George N. Parks, and my co-Drum Majors Sean and Ryan at DMA 2007

Last night I received a call from my father. He was regrettably informing me that my grandmother had passed away. You all remember, I'm sure, my recent post about her museum of a house and how I so enjoy being there with her. Due to complications while in the hospital, MeeMaw contracted an infection that spread from her lungs throughout her body, and is now no longer with us. She was a wonderful and loving woman, and I never heard her say a harsh word to anyone. Her love of life and her family will remain with me always, and I hope she finds peace in her eternal life. With love, MeeMaw. Doobie doobie doo!

My father, myself (holding Ranger), MeeMaw, and my brother Ian, in Texas for Christmas 2009

 

...Cow Palace Parties

I had made it all of the way through Tennessee. Through the grasslands and over the foothills I marveled at the golden-green that surrounded me. Tall grass shifted in a rain dance as I stopped for a picnic lunch of biscuits and pineapple jelly that Barb had wrapped up for me before I left McNairy County. She really is the loveliest woman.

She sent me off with a hug and a smile. Alex, smelling like tobacco and hickory smoke, gave me a friendly pat on the shoulder. They walked out to the edge of the driveway to give me the traditional Robinson farm send off as the dogs chased my car down the pavement. It is with love and regret that I put my back to that old farm house. The one with the oak tree in the front yard. But there is so much more to see, and so little time in which to see it. I must press on.

Destination: Gate City Virginia. Of all of the sights that were seen and things that were done this summer, I will always have the fondest memories of those who saw and did along side of me. One of those marvelous fellows was Kevin. A William and Mary student, he is one of the smartest, kindest souls that exists in this world. He has a grizly smile. Lopsided and endearing, he was always in a bright mindset. Over the ten weeks and several adventures we spent together I began to put together the pieces of his home-world.

He lives on a farm. A horse farm, nonetheless. His father sells tractors and his sister competitively trains and rides Quarter Horses. Even if that was the end of it, he was already living in my dream world. But oh, what a life he lives.

Kevin Cox lives in paradise. His house sits atop a throne of green and oversees the goings on of two barns, two riding rings, and several acres of pastureland. The plot next door is also owned by the Coxes. On this small (read: several acre large) chunk of land sits a smokehouse, spring-house, and farmhouse, all built in the days of Daniel Boone. By a friend of Daniel Boone. A close friend. There were carvings in the wall from the turn-of-the-century and beyond, some including stories of hands that were lost in machining accidents. Kevin recalled ghost stories that had been passed down through generations of Coxes. As he touched on the tale of a small girl who has a tendency to make ghastly mirror appearances, a grizzled old man walked through the door and said, "Boo!"

Pa, Kevin's grandfather, had recently turned 90 and celebrates his life by hitting on young women (in the most adorable-yet-creepy way) and flipping over riding lawn mowers. I wish I was exaggerating. Pa is what I imagine my Paw Paw would have ended up had he lasted a bit longer. I realized, however, as Pa laughed at his own joke, where Kevin got that smile of his. This old man was so full of life, so full of the love of life. He is the kind of man that could sit across from you, not saying anything or even acknowledging your presence, and you still learn something. He emanates wisdom. The kind that can only be gained by an open mind and a wide open heart.

With Kevin's girlfriend manning the wheel I was taken on a golf cart tour of the backside of the Cox family land. We visited the river. Well, we almost drove into the river, to be precise. Who knew that the golf cart had no breaks? Catie didn't, apparently. Nor did I, however, so I will point no fingers. After pushing that cart back up the hill we headed for the crown jewel of the property: the Cow Palace.

You see, the Cox Family Farm, much like the Robinson farm, used to be a working Cow farm. Unlike Wayne's little chunk of cow pie, however, the Coxes ran a dairy operation. The Cow Palace was the central hub of business: the milking barn. A shotgun building, The Cow Palace rests above all of the other buildings and appears rather unassuming. One step inside, however, proves that it is anything but.

The main room contains a pool table, a ping-pong table, and a big screen tv. Couches litter the free space, and the walls are covered in maps and posters. Shutters hide the kitchen and bar from view when children are involved in the revelry, and are thrown open when more mature crowds are around and are demanding bloody Marys. All I could think about as I stood in awe was how much my Uncle Bobby would appreciate this hideout.

Each farm I have stopped at on this trip has further fanned the flame in my heart for my own piece of this planet. A place to call home. While yes, I pine for a farm with some horses, at this point in my life I would be satisfied with little more than 300 square feet to call my own. It's hard, you know, to have to move every 9 months. It's hard to finally become used to a location, to fall in love with its creaks and crevaces, and then to have it ripped away right under your nose.

All I ask for is to stay in one place until I feel like moving. Not until someone else decides it's time for me to leave. Is that so much to ask?

Bis dann!
Love, love, lusting-for-home love,
Amy Plunk!

...Train Hopping in Tennessee

Ok so the title of this one is a little misleading, for I've never been train hopping. But my cousin has. My "redneck cousin Alex" as I like to call him.

Alex Reeves. Grandson of my great aunt Barbara and great uncle Wayne Robinson. The three of them live in a Tennessee farm house in Bethel Springs, right outside of Selmer. They share their property with five dogs, a herd of guinea hens, a couple peacocks and peahens, and, once upon a time, some cows.

Unfortunately, my time with the Robinsons was short during this visit, so if you will be patient with me for a while, I will reminisce a little.

From a young age I have been going to "The Farm" once every few years or so for a Plunk Family Reunion. "Liberty" happens every year during mother's day weekend. All of the Plunks and branches of the Plunk tree gather for a potluck fit for twelve kings in the yard of Liberty Church in Selmer, Tennessee. Plunks of all shapes, ages, and sizes, mingle amongst the graves of our ancestors eating barbecue, coleslaw, and corn.

The kids, however, were never satisfied with this boring, old person activity. We don't care about talking and family history. We care about adventure. As soon as there was a break in introductions (and this is your second cousin three-times removed on your grandmother's side...) we would head for the woods. We headed for the spring.

Tucked away in the forest behind the church is an old freshwater spring that Plunks have been visiting for generations past, and will continue to visit for generations to come. We know this because of the trees that surround the little spring. The trees in this forest glade no longer have trunks that are full of bark. Instead they are full of history. Names, dates, hearts, declarations of love, all of these litter the trunks of the big gum trees that lend their shade to us small adventurers. My name is on one of those trees, as is my brother's. It is next to our father's name, which he carved when he was our age. One day, whether or not the Liberty Reunion is still happening, I will take my children to that little white church and I will hand them a pocket knife. Above all things, they will know that they are Plunks.

After our little get-together, the Plunk-Robinson clan (the siblings of my Grandfather, and their families) head back to the Robinson family farm. This has always been my favorite part. When I was younger, the place was a working cattle farm. My uncle Wayne would raise cows and sell them for meat. I will always remember one particular cow, of course. His name was Spark Plug. The little guy had lost his mother during childbirth, and Wayne was raising him by hand. He would hold a bottle full of milk between his legs and Spark Plug would go to town, loving all of the one-on-one attention he was getting from Mr. Farmer. As he got older and was weaned, the little guy still followed Wayne wherever he went, sometimes even sucking on his fingers. That calf was the sweetest little piece of livestock I have ever met. But, of course, Wayne was running an operation, and in the long run, Spark Plug was just another cog in the machine. A yummy, juicy, grass-fed cog.

Uncle Wayne has always been an animal man. Another Robinson critter that will always remain etched on my memory was Precious, the three-legged deer. When Precious was just an infant deerling he liked to spend his days laying around in the tall grass with his loving mother. Now, this is all well and good until it became time to cut the long grass. When it's time to cut the long grass, you must do it with a very large machine. A large, loud machine. A machine that can easily run over a mother deer, killing her instantly, and take the leg of a baby deer that was mercifully off to the side.

Of course, when Wayne realized what had happened, he was mortified. He was able to save Precious, however, and the little three-legged Bambi would roam around Wayne's farms for a few more years until he died of health complications.

The last time I saw Precious was several years ago - almost a decade I believe. That was also the last time I was on Wayne's farm when he still owned cattle. As the years dragged by and Wayne got older it became harder and harder for him to maintain his bovine business. And so he retired. Life goes on.

But just because there are no longer any cow pies to fling does not mean we don't have a good time when my branch of the Plunks gets together with the rest of the family. Every year after the Liberty gathering there is a night of revelry. A night of pit-bbq pork. A night of horseshoes. A night of Oh Hell! (A card game invented by my great aunt Woozie) A night of family stories, from that of PRT to the time that Alex hopped a train to Birmingham (he was 13).

Of course, the moral of the story is to befriend the older generations of your family. They are a goldmine of information and good times. Even now, when Wayne is almost gone "upstairs," his eyes still lit up when he saw me. He gave me a big (although weak) hug, and he said "Welcome home." My eyes glistened a little at the sentiment. It's nice to know that wherever my wanderings may lead, I can always find a place to lay my head and call home.

Here's to you and your home,
Love love, cow pie flinging love,
Plunk!

Progress across this country of ours

A) Boulder, CO
B) Cheyenne Wells, CO
C) Lubbock, TX
D) Austin, TX
E) Baton Rouge, LA
F) New Orleans, LA
G) Vancleave, MS
H) Meridian, MS
I) Bethel Springs, TN
Total mileage so far: 1,977

...Mississippi Goat Farming

"What do you do with your goats?" I asked my great-uncle Ben as we bumped around his pond in a Gator.

"I keep 'em." He responded slowly.

"Well, yes, but I mean, do you keep them for meat, or milk? You should make some goat cheese." I really do love goat cheese.

"I just keep them. Sometimes I sell a few to market when the herd gets big. I just like to have 'em around." With this he looked away into the field, as if indicating that that was that.

My Uncle Ben lives a great life. He and my Aunt Bess live in a house that is nicely tucked away on a hill. They have one dog and... who knows how many cats. All of the animals, however, live outside. Except Butterbean. He's the oldest of the cats and gets special treatment. Baron III, Ben's doberman, lives in the lower garage with Tom Cat. They live comfortably with heat in the winter and AC in the summer. Baron gets about three-thousand treats a day and has the waistline to show it. He also has the personality of a bunny rabbit. That is the sweetest scary-looking dog I think I have ever known.

Of course, even with all of these suburban comforts, Ben's greatest joy comes from his goats. My Aunt Bess is one of three Harris siblings. Bess, Hallie (my grandmother) and their brother Tommy. Many years back the Harris family land was split between the three children; Tommy got their mother's house in Laurel, MS, Hallie received a piece of lakefront land in Mississippi that is now a frequent vacationing spot (more on The Camp later), and Bess got the farm in Newton, MS. Now, Bess is not the type of woman to maintain a farm. She, at the time, was a school teacher, and much preferred a life of reading and being inside. Ben, on the other hand, has turned that farm into his home away from home.

Every afternoon since Ben retired he has driven 45 minutes from Meridian to Newton to see his babies. Every afternoon as he pulls his truck up to the gate close to 100 goats (and 4 donkeys) come running toward the fence. Situated on the farm are three structure: the farm house, the garage, and the barn. The farm house is just that - a rustic building that no one has slept in for well over three years. The only use it has gotten is from Ben storing meat and beer in the refrigerator. The beer, of course, is for the hardworking farmer's own refreshment.

The meat, on the other hand, is for the hardworking farm dog. No, I'm not talking about Baron. He's about as hardworking as a sloth. Sandy is a large Wheaton Terrier, but she'd never fit in at a show. She is dirty, smelly, and distant. Unlike Baron, she would never rub up against you for a pat. Her job is to protect the farm, and she does her job well. As a reward she receives ham, chicken, turkey, and a sausage. It pays to be a working dog.

The four donkeys I mentioned are named Mary, Joseph, Hannah, and Little Bit. All four of them come up to about mid-waist height, and Ben refers to them lovingly as "Jesus Donkeys." What he means, of course, is that they are all Nazarene Donkeys - the kind which Jesus was told to have ridden into Nazareth on. They are there to be loved on and fed, and they pretend that that is their sole purpose in life. However, they hide beneath their loving facades a vicious streak a mile wide. A Nazarene Donkey, if it smells or sees a fox, will not rest until that fox is miles away from the herd, or dead. Foxes like to eat baby goats. Donkeys like to stomp on foxes. Donkeys protect the goats. It's a wonderful cycle.

It was so nice to be out on the farm with Ben. The community there, while small, is one that I could see myself living in if I were willing to live a simpler life. All of the people we encountered at the local feed co-op were bright-eyed and friendly... and muscular. Very, very muscular. The Farm is situated on a land with two ponds - one for swimming and one for catfishing. Above the catfishing pond hovers a deer stand with a rickety, unsafe ladder leading into the branches of the tree. Of course, I had to climb up there. From the top of that tree you can see all of the land my family owns in that area, and it takes your breath away.

I've always wanted to live on a farm, and this farm is everything I ever imagined. Except that it is in the middle of Mississippi. The middle-of-nowhere Mississippi. I don't know if I could quite survive with that little human contact.

But Ben, he has the best of both worlds. He has his home with his wife. The hospital where he used to work is down the road one direction, and his son is down the road in the other. He has about a bajilion cats to pet, and one pushover of a big dog. Then, he has the farm. He has peace and quiet, animal comforts, a fishin' hole and a fridge of beer.

Honestly, Uncle Ben's got it made.

Until we meet again,
Love, love, goat-slobberin' love,
Amy Plunk!

Progress across this country of ours

A) Boulder, CO
B) Cheyenne Wells, CO
C) Lubbock, TX
D) Austin, TX
E) Baton Rouge, LA
F) New Orleans, LA
G) Vancleave, MS
H) Meridian, MS
Total mileage so far: 1,759

...Museum-esque Homes in Mississippi

Good morning and good-bye, New Orleans. It was a pleasant stay. Being awoken to bignets and street musicians is truly magical. My time with you has been short but sweet, and I must part with you as I continue my eastward journey.

Saturday, August 14 saw me leaving New Orleans, LA to end up in Vancleave, MS and stay with my MeeMaw - my father's mother.

The drives both from Baton Rouge to New Orleans and from New Orleans east pass by some of the best landscapes that the country has to offer. When most people think of swamplands I'm sure that they envision muggy cesspools of mosquitoes and alligators. Well, yes, I guess that is completely true. But if you stay a respectable distance from the ankle-consuming muck, say, 100 feet away on the highway, then it is a breathtaking sight to behold.

It might just be me, but I can think of few trees that are more beautiful than Cypress Trees. Their enormous knotted trunks rise and twist around themselves. The bumpy roots that are lovingly called "knees" emerge from the algae covered water. The Spanish Moss that thrives amongst their branches drapes like a green wedding veil meant to mask the scarred wood beneath. For miles and miles both before and after New Orleans you see nothing but Cypress on either side and all you want to do is go take a nap on that soft-looking moss. Or, at least, that is all I want to do. Just watch out for the chiggers!

The Cypress drive, however, was just a means to my end. And that end was in Vancleave, Mississippi. Vancleave is, and has always been, home to my grandmother, Peggy. I don't know if I've ever called her Peggy, however, for she has always been "MeeMaw" to myself, my brother, and even my mother.

For as long as I can remember I have enjoyed visiting MeeMaw's house, for it is like no other house I have ever been in. More than anything it is a museum, a tribute to times past. Even the bathrooms are decorated with vintage tin signs advertising porcelain toilet bowls. Next to the tub is a stepped box containing at least thirty different bars of vibrantly colorful soap. Her kitchen has dishes and bowls of all shapes and sizes, and even has little appetizer plates from Delta Airlines. She has frames containing sheets of turn-of-the-century dollar bills, and costume jewelry from the days when she was a model. There is never a lack of something to explore when you are in MeeMaw's house.

Of course, all of these trinkets pale in comparison to the main attraction in the Plunk House of Wonders - the old Dees'  Post Office. You see, Peggy Plunk was once Peggy Dees. I'm going to have to ask my dad to point out any butchered facts that I give, but let's see if I can get at least some of the history right.

She lived on Old Dees Pl across the street from the Vancleave General Store, which her father owned. The store sold just about anything you needed, and contained the town's post office. The post office was a large hexagonal wooden structure with just about enough room for one person inside. There were numbered slots that acted as P.O. Boxes and a bulletin board wall where wanted posters hung next to lost child and dog flyers.

Unfortunately, sometime before I was born, the general store burned down. Just about everything was lost, and I don't think that they rebuilt it. The only thing remaining to uphold the Dees legacy is that old Post Office. It now resides in my grandmother's living room, just as it was right before the fire. The wanted posters are miraculously still in tact, and some of the P.O. Boxes even have mail in them - although I wonder how many of those letters are from the time, and how many were put there later by my thrifty MeeMaw.

As always, MeeMaw was a gracious host, and I had an excellent time staying with her. We ate marinated crab fingers and crab stew for dinner, drank some of her homemade sweet tea, and we explored her vintage jewelry collection. I came home with a crazy-cool watch made of pennies and a necklace made of animal bone. Win for me, I'd say.

In the morning I gave a big farewell hug to my grandmother (who was toting along a purse my mom once embroidered for her) and set off north to venture into the Mississippi farm lands.

As I write this, you all should know, I am sitting in the Bangor, ME public library. You should all be excited for the post that is coming out of my trip up here. As a teaser... there will be photos!

Until then,
Love, love, super thrifty vintage love,
Amy Plunk!

Progress across this country of ours

A) Boulder, CO
B) Cheyenne Wells, CO
C) Lubbock, TX
D) Austin, TX
E) Baton Rouge, LA
F) New Orleans, LA
G) Vancleave, MS
Total mileage so far: 1,608

...Braving the Humidity of Louisiana

After locking myself out of Sherwood's hotel and having to call him at an ungodly hour to wake him up, Ian and I set out once more. Leaving from Austin, TX we aimed east, and planned to make it to Baton Rouge, LA before dinner.

Throughout my life I have had the fortune of being able to visit with many different branches of my family tree. I have met many generations of relatives on both sides of the family, but have spent more time with one particular branch than with the rest of them combined.

My mother's mother and brother both live in Baton Rouge, LA. Bobby lives with his wife and their kids, my cousins Kelsey and Brandon. Well, to be totally clear, neither Kelsey nor Brandon lives at home any more - Kelsey is a junior at LSU and Brandon now works for a prestigious bank in Florida. Bring in BANK.

Uncle Bobby very generously offered to put Ian and I up for our time in Baton Rouge, which, of course, was regrettably short. Ian was only able to stay one night - he had the time to visit with the family and go out to dinner with our Granny before he had to hop on a plane and make it home in time for an afternoon meeting on Thursday, August 12.

We ate dinner at City Cafe that first night, and it was delicious, as it always is. I had the shrimp and grits and was in heaven. Good southern food can just never be beat. We spent the dinner talking to Granny. Ian described the work he's doing for Volunteer Alexandria. Apparently they are currently organizing a Volunteer Day on Sept. 11 where they are going to travel around Alexandria and offer volunteer help as well as raise funds for the troops over seas. Go little brother! Of course, Granny also asked about my summer research, but I was more than happy to let my little brother do the talking - I've grown weary of explaining my project!

After sending the little Plunk home on an ungodly early flight, I made my way back to spend another day in Baton Rouge. Dinner was had at the sushi restaurant where Kelsey works... and it was delicious! The chef if very good friends with my uncle Bobby, and gave us a sampler set of his favorite Saki. Who knew there were so many different kinds? And the sushi was just delectable! We had salmon and eel and crab and shrimp... mmmmmm just talking about it makes me miss it that much more. Good thing Uncle Bobby was paying, though ;-)

I spent that night at Kelsey's brand new Town House. Good lord what a nice house. She lives there with her roommate Devyn and their kitten... I forget its name, but he was adorable. All white and a little devil. Kel had her friends over that night, and we spent it playing Cranium and watching a meteor shower. I believe that we saw at least 7 meteors while lying on the hoods of the cars off of River Road. It was magical. My legs were tingling with delight. ...orrrr they were tingling from the MILLIONS OF MOSQUITO BITES I received that night. Either or.

The next morning I set out with Kelsey in tow to spend a day and a night in New Orleans, LA. It hasn't been that long since I've been to NOLA; I was there this past January for Kelsey's Debutante Ball. However, this was the first time in a long time that I was able to explore the city during the day. Yes, nighttime New Orleans is an experience that everyone should have, even if just for a few minutes. The streets are teeming with drunken twenty-somethings holding hand grenades in their sweaty fists. Every once in a while you see a tourist family clinging to their children and staying to the middle of the streets so as to avoid the cross dressing hookers and to shield their childrens' eyes from the numerous windows filled with scantily-to-not clad women.

During the day, however, New Orleans is a wonderfully cultured place to be. We made our way through the French Quarter stopping at such shops as Marie Laveau's House of Voodoo, where you can find a charm or a fetish for just about anything. Just don't touch the shrine! We also found a new favorite artist, and browsed his gallery for close to an hour while lamenting at our lack of money. Craig Tracy paints women and then photographs them, using no photoshop or trickery of any kind. The result is a gorgeous, surreal representation of the female (and sometimes male!) body. I'm in love.

We stayed in the lovely Chateau Bourbon courtesy of my Aunt Susan, and spent the night curled up in bed watching The Princess and the Frog and eating cupcakes from Bee Sweet on Magazine Street. The Red Velvet cupcake was absolutely divine!

In the morning we had bignets at Cafe du Monde and spent an hour in awe at the Insectarium. Think aquarium, only for insects! They had swimming beetles, all sorts of stick bugs and leaf bugs, and more butterflies than you knew existed! If you're ever in the area for touristy things as opposed to drunkenly things, I highly recommend you stop by and say hi to the tarantulas for me!

After a sorry goodbye to my cousin, Aunt, Uncle, and Granny, I left Baton Rouge to go spend some quality time in Mississippi. There is never enough time with the people you love, but at least I got to spend some of my summer with them.

Tomorrow: adventures in Mississippi!
Love, love, butterfly filled love,
Plunk!

Progress across this country of ours

A) Boulder, CO
B) Cheyenne Wells, CO
C) Lubbock, TX
D) Austin, TX
E) Baton Rouge, LA
F) New Orleans, LA

Total mileage so far: 1,505

...Surviving Texas

And when I say "surviving," I mean just that.

On Monday, August 9, my brother and I left Colorado. It was a sad goodbye. I did fall in love with the state, if you couldn't tell. My plans are to be back as often as I physically can. January, ski trip? Summer, more research? Sooner than is comfortable, grad school? One can only dream.

But as we left that lovely state, and spent about ten minutes in the panhandle of Oklahoma, we made our way into Texas. Texas. The state that takes three days to drive across. Texas. Surprisingly enough, the scenery did not change much in the three days during which we drove across its expanse. Of course, we stayed mostly to the eastern edges, and did not venture toward the New Mexico or Mexico boarders, but I suspect that those reaches of the Lone Star State would not have very many novel sights to offer.

Texas is full of flat, brown farmland. It is full of goats, both alive and dead. It is full of 75mph two lane roads, and it is full of friends and family. At the time when we were passing through, I knew at least four people in the state; my lovely Aunt Oney and her family live in San Antonio. My friend from high school, Sherwood, was spending the summer working for IBM in Austin. Two friends from the program this summer live in Texas: Sabrina in Dallas(?) and Travis in Austin.

Unfortunately, I would have died of some crazy Texas disease had I stayed at all of their houses for a night or two. So I had to pick my destinations wisely. I've heard rumor of Austin being one of the coolest cities in the country, and I've been to San Antonio before, so I decided to drop by Sherwood's for a night. Unfortunately, Austin is about 14 hours from Cheyenne Wells, and there was no way I was driving that far in one shot.

The problem? I know no one in northern Texas.

The solution? CouchSurfing.com

CouchSurfing is a wonderful project geared towards the low-budget traveler. It allows people to create profiles and explore others with the aim of connecting weary travelers with a free couch to sleep on. At first it sounds shady, yes. But if you go deeper into the infrastructure of CouchSurfing you can find ways to protect yourself. For one, there is a verification system that allows users to confirm that they live where they claim to live. Another method to create a safer environment for Surfers is that you are encouraged to vouch for people you have either stayed with or hosted.

This was how I found my way to Ashley's house in Lubbock, TX... a halfway-ish point between Cheyenne Wells and Austin, TX.

We walked in to be greeted by (luckily not all at once) six dogs, three cats, and two snakes. Oh, and Ashley and her mother. They were beyond wonderful to us - providing us with chicken tacos, chocolate fudge cake, and Comedy Central. All of this they handed over with smiles on their faces. We were allowed to sleep in a good-sized guest bedroom (on a bed! not a couch!), and left in the morning feeling a little better about humans as a whole. There really are good people out there.

Day three of road tripping. Destination, Austin, TX.

I found a goat farm. I found a goat farm with a crazy goat farmer. A goat farmer that, apparently, when one of his goats dies, cuts its head off and hangs it on his barbed wire fence. It proceeds to dry in the sun and look like a turkey breast with ears. It was surprisingly awesome. But still gross. Don't get me wrong... it was definitely gross. Awesome and gross. I expected no less from Texas.

Austin, however, was in no way gross. It was just awesomeawesomeawesome. We did not get to spend much time in the city... for we were tired and ready to just settle down. Or at least, I was tired. Ian, on the other hand, spent the entire day napping in the passenger seat. Thanks, little brother. Thanks a lot.

But the part of Austin we did see was wonderful and covered in trees. Dinner was had with Sherwood at a Tex-Mex restaurant that had wonderful avocado salads and green-chili burritos. And fajitas. So many fajitas. I do love me some o' them.

Sherwood was actually staying at an extended stay hotel for his summer working with IBM (yes, it's small, but maids clean it twice a week!). So we hung out and watched movies on his PS3. Don't be fooled. Just because AntiChrist has Willem Dafoe in it does not mean you want to see it.

Sleep was had, and the next morning we set off towards Baton Rouge, Louisiana.

I will leave you lovelies with that, and will sign off for the day.
Love love, major Texas-is-a-huge-flipping-state love,
Amy Plunk!

Progress across this country of ours

A) Boulder, CO
B) Cheyenne Wells, CO
C) Lubbock, TX
D) Austin, TX

Total mileage so far: 992