Spirit Pond

My motel may have looked good, but it had fleas and at least one tick. So I spent the night in my sleeping bag again.

So I sat in Donnie's office trying to blog all the stuff that had occurred and chatting to folk. Next I pedalled to Sandersville, where Susan worked and lived. She had lunch and Liz, a local reporter, waiting for me. Apparently it was an interview but didn't feel like I had imagined it would, and after a bit of fun chatting about this and that Stacer walked in. He, like Susan, had grown up locally and he offered to show me round and take me fishing down at Spirit Pond.
After a short ride down Georgia's bumpy red clay tracks we jump out. This was Stacer's place. He had hunted through these woods for miles around since he was a boy, and he taught me how to fish with simple equipment- none of the bags and boxes and floats etc. After a few false starts and a couple of beers i was catching Shiners to be used as bait for the Bass.
Stacer realised that I had never shot a gun before (air rifles don't count) so he gave me a few shots with the rifle he was carrying. An easy coach to follow and I started to get the hang of it. None of the Bass bit however, so we hauled a barrel of the smaller catch back to the Lodge where Stacer prepared and cooked chips and Southern fried fish. Damn good! Further company joined for dinner and a few beers. This was part of the America I had been seeking.



Not the lodge- just a decent photo of the old barn

I slept at the lodge and we rose before 7 to see if we could get out and hear the turkey's gobblin' at dawn.

As usual i have loads of photos i wish to upload, but its hard in library computers,
so i cherry picked this one in particular.

Stacer is a spiritual man, I'm sure ghe won't mind my saying, and he has put a lot of work into the land he owns and manages. Nature is a gift to him and he told of a tornado that had ripped through the valley, and had torn down an old Cedar. He and some friends had built a cross from the old tree and stood it on the dam, where it could be seen right up the valley. This wasn't just religious symbolism but a fitting symbol of the tree he may even have called an old friend.

I will always believe that stereotypes are based on some truth, but they are only skin deep. They don't get involved beyond image, and don't see the care, commitment and intelligence behind others way of life. I guess I always knew that but it means more to have it shown to you for real. As Stacer said, you have to live life and take an interest in it.

I left Sandersville and being a little behind time, Susan dropped me the other side of Sparta. Since then the going has been a steay climb.