Ah, Patty, you remind me of my national park days as a seasonal ranger of giving guided walks and evening programs, guarding campgrounds, cleaning bathrooms, putting up signs in bulletin boards (ranger programs, snake identification, and more). Usually the protection rangers dealt with the scofflaws, and we all at some point had someone roll through the entrance station and say their friend behind them was paying for the campsites. Nope. Pay for your own, we've seen that trick before.

One of those campers who tried our patience in an Arizona national monument was a stringy old guy in his VW camper van. The two week limit passed but he had excuses and somehow managed to move into the overflow area for a few days more. He would get to the visitor center at 4:55 and loaf around looking at all of the books and postcards (we were told not to chase people out at 5, let them finish shopping). We got pretty good at corralling him. A few months later I landed in Tennessee in the Great Smokys. One day in the Sugarlands visitor center a familiar face walked in and I stepped out from behind the counter and walked up, calling him by name. I thought he was going to have a heart attack. So many stories are coming back to me . . .

I mowed the back last night and emptied the big gas can into the regular mower gas can, but don't have enough to mix the 2-stroke can yet. Maybe today I'll go get 3 or 4 gallons in the big can. For now I can hear the tap of raindrops hitting my office window, so the gas may be prepared but no more trimming or mowing will happen today. There's plenty to do indoors. But wait! With rain comes mud. Perhaps I should postpone the den tile deep scrub.