Shredded Feet

When it rains it pours...


Above is the swimming lake at Long Point Park at Melbourne Beach, Florida.   Nobody uses it to swim anymore. Not since they relocated the alligator that was swimming in it.  I guess that sort of shook folks up. Even though the alligator is living elsewhere, folks worry he might get homesick. 


Speaking of rain...


When I was making up my guest loft for company, I noticed water stains on my nearly new curtains. The ones that nearly drove me crazy when I sewed them up last December. I foolishly bought this type of sheer linen to sew up for the curtains because I liked the luminosity of it. Turns out you can't cut a straight line with it, you can't rip a straight line like other materials. Maybe this was just too loosely woven. Ironing it was  hilarious. I've never dealt with such difficult material. In the end, I was proud of the guest loft curtains but my hair had turned gray, and I had taught the dog filthy curse words while sewing up that dastardly material.   I am sure the other campers found my outbursts entertaining, as I sat at the picnic table trying to tame that most difficult fabric. 


My guest loft is an optimistic name for the bunk over the cab area. It's queen sized (woo hoo) has 3 windows, shelves, a reading light and optional privacy curtains that close it off from the rest of the wheel estate. It also has a removable ladder for easy access. It slides across to a single bunk, which gives the cab area more head room, but I don't need it, since I am short and getting shorter. So I always leave it set up as a queen bunk. When I have company, we put the ladder up at night, then once they are up in the morning, we put the ladder away again. 


So I climbed up there to do gymnastics while making up the bed with clean sheets because a friend was going to come visit for a few days. We are both sailors from the Caribbean, so we have loads in common. 


The water stains on my curtains really put me in a funky mood. 


Along comes my friend, and I tell them the bad news. Well...  I came up with a crazy idea and my dear friend carried out 90% of the work. Pictures coming soon!  Hopefully we have fixed the leak, but the repair was not cheap at all, other than my friend graciously donating hard labor. And it was hard work too. 


So, we've been busy busy busy, instead of visiting we are like two sailors trying to bail out a sinking boat. Nothing worse than a leak in your RV or your boat. We've made so many trips to the hardware store for pieces and parts and tools, that they know Harley and us  by name now. Besides fixing the leaks, we did a ton of other work. Ditto for a trip to an RV supplier where we spent a small fortune because he had the coveted supplies no one else within 100 miles had.  Just for fun we looked at a few unlocked RV's on the sales lot, hoping a salesman would turn up and show us some of the locked ones. But by the time the salesman wandered out to show us around, it was hot, we were tired and we told the salesman, the dog didn't see anything he liked better than his current rolling dog house. 


I'm pooped!


I hate to bad mouth a place, but I am visiting the Jonathan Dickinson State Park in Hobe Sound, Florida. They have a wonderful shady river campground we could not get into. Then they have the new campground in a different area, where they gave us 5 night reservations, in 3 different sites. Yes, in between all the repairs, we had to keep packing up and moving.  I made these reservations in advance, but apparently, not enough in advance. 


The new RV park area is not my cup of tea at all. It's a huge lot where they have done away with nearly all the indigenous plants and trees over 2 feet tall. Shame on them. It's a state park isn't it?  Then they paved the new campground roads in hot black tar. They leveled most of the camping lots then put this horrible sharp-as-razors tiny gravel on them in a huge T-shape so that no matter where you walk, there is that horrible dreadful gravel.

This type of RV camping may appeal to some, but for me, it's a nightmare. Especially in this case, the gravel they used is clearly the wrong type. The elderly volunteer workampers have to rake it every time some body vacates a spot. I feel sorry for them. 

For days we have cursed this gravel. It works into your sandals, cutting your feet, it sticks to the sole of your shoes, it's all over the motorhome floors. It sticks to the rugs, it hides on the vinyl flooring, blending in. I have a thick rope rug, I jam across my motorhome step at the entry, when I park, so I can vigorously scrub my shoe soles before entering the RV. It does nothing to remove the sharp tiny gravel. Heaven help you  when you step on a piece of gravel barefoot indoors. Out fly the curse words! My feet are cut to pieces and oh so sore. Even Harley doesn't like the gravel. 


So no shade, horrible blood sucking gravel, heat producing black tops and guess what... the big rigs must love it, because it's full of big rigs and their satellite dishes parked out front in the gravel. I assume there are people living in those rigs, I hear their air-conditioning humming, behind closed shades, even though the brisk winds here require no A/C. Nothing wrong with living hermetically sealed in perfect climate controlled air with all the shades down 24/7, but I don't live like that. 


I  like nature.  I like trees, grass, shade, dirt, sand,  unpaved  or concrete roads, indigenous plants rather than a treeless campground. Oh there are a few token trees, that provide about 2 inches of shade if you lay under them at the right time of day. 


Somehow, somebody bought the wrong type of gravel for this RV park. You need a vacuum cleaner and assorted brushes  by your door to keep 10% of the gravel out of the motorhome. The other 90% sneaks in, no matter what you do!


I thought since it was a state park, it would offer up lots of park like beauty. But once in a while I am wrong, wrong, wrong! Some of the park is quite nice, but this new RV campground is just dreadful for my type of lifestyle. And oh are my feet so sore. 


Poor little Harley dog has had that sharp gravel stick between his paw pads. Even he hates the stuff!

Harley prefers to be carried across the gravel, because his little paws are  injured from the hideous gravel. I swear I could walk across broken bottles and not feel near the pain I feel now. 

The nice thing is, and it's very nice, we told the rangers we had an emergency and did they by chance have a big step ladder we could borrow?  Well, guess what, they graciously loaned us their ladder (and delivered it too!)  for a day and a half. That made our work much easier, in spite of the constant moving. 


More later, so much work to do and I am failing fast. I am oh so tired and my shredded feet need more doctoring. I must go lay down.