JAN-A-6
PACKING OUT OF CUMBERLAND,
AND THE DRIVE DOWN TO GAINESVILLE,
RETURNING UP TO VISIT WITH
ANDREW WILLIAM AND KACIE ELIZABETH,
FOR A “STAY-AT-HOME DAY”
WITH DONALD AND THE KIDS IN FLORIDA
Jan. 9—11, 2002
I had tried to set up each of the hunters for the last morning hunt, since Gene and Richard would be leaving in late morning and the rest of us would be going back at 3:30 PM on the Lucy Ferguson. There was a move afoot to get me to go directly back to Atlanta and Paul had already called Betty Rose to set up an appointment with a gastroenterologist for me on Friday. But I had insisted I would be fine by then after this episode of acute food poisoning had past, and besides, if I went directly back to Atlanta I would not be able to see the grandkids for at least another year, and I was already here close enough to drive down to see them. I put a message on Donald’s phone to let him know I could be coming down for the visit later on Wednesday night, and would be carrying four or five packs of groceries we had not used because of fewer people attending and at least one of them not eating much.
The consensus was that the group had not seen much in being staked out around where they were before, and Rich was eager to “hunt around here”—which is outside the limits of the wilderness area prescribed for the controlled hunt. So, I said if they would like to call off the hunt on the basis of the fact that we already had a large quota of hogs from my brief outings, and would rather see some pretty sights on the island, we could get up and watch the sunrise from the Atlantic—as we last had on a day in the hunt when the postal jeep would not start. I took Gene with me before dawn down to the beach and we walked along the dunes. I spotted a fresh set of really big cat tracks along the sand. We also saw a distant horse come down to the sea and poke around just at the surf water line with the spume of the ocean foam kicking up around his hooves. We went to a shallow tidewater pond where there were many shore birds standing in silhouette when the sun finally came up reluctantly over the shrimp trawlers out with their seines.
We came back and leisurely packed up the stuff I would be taking with Gene and Richard, and then went over to the Greyfield dock to deliver them to the Lucy Ferguson. First I had taken Gene with me on a run up to Plum Orchard to dump our trash, and also so he could se the mansion which he had not seen before. On the way, a large bobcat jumped out in front of us and ran around the area f Plum Orchard Camp. I slowed down to watch him and to make sure there were no unintentional incidents as there were last year. We reported the bobcat sighing to Zack, and he reported that there had been quite a few sightings this year.
I came back after they were underway toward Fernandino Beach and a taxi that would take them to JAX airport. The remaining crew cleaned up around the house. I called Liz Mc Comus, and told her we had had a good stay and would b e leaving the pick up truck at the Greyfield dock. We then set out to return by the ferry that Mit Ferguson drove us over. Paul Gibbs had made an airline reservation to fly back to ATL, but did not want to struggle with what I thought would be just his guns, which I would carry back. Instead, he said he did not want to fool with any of his things and planned that I take all of his gear back—including a steamer trunk and a large cooler, four boxes of groceries and all his duffel as well as his guns. That meant there would not be room enough inside the Bronco and a bunch of the gear would have to be lashed on top of the roof rack. For this we stopped at the Wal-Mart and waved as Craig and David Schaefer continued on in their pickup truck on their way to drive straight through to Cambridge MD.
We lashed the big cases and coolers on top with a number of bungee cords and I dropped Paul off in the JAX airport as I continued down toward Gainesville. Donald had called back and said he would now be taking Thursday off so we would be together in a very low-key day just following the kids around. That, of course, is what I had come for. I followed the Mapquest instructions for driving to Donald’s—and they took me all the way down into Gainesville, then to turn back and drive north to Donald’s. The Mapquest detour took several extra hours and another hundred miles, but I arrived just after the kiddies had their baths and were all eager to get into whatever Grandpa had in all those boxes. Probably the one who appreciated this kind of “Bearing Gifts we Traverse Afar” most sincerely was Kacie, who would get out from the pantry or the four boxes of the hunt food stock and,, dragging it like a retriever, she kept begging us to open the bags for her, looking like a starving poor waif, A chubby waif at that.
So, I have arrived after the Cumberland hunt and the other interval stops in my long southern drive, and will now be ready to make the return trip by way of Atlanta, as an overnight stop on my way back home to Derwood in the faithful aging Bronco.