This is a traveling tale.  The setting is real.  The characters may seem familiar,  but are based on acquaintances or figments of my imagination.   I am Dorothy.

After riding for hours and hours in our RV,  watching miles and miles of mesmerizing tree tops glide by,   I begin to nod off.
Suddenly,  I am jolted awake by a bump, a bang and a clatter.   I hear Uncle Ray,  who is wearing a lovely,  matching,  silver sequined hat,  jacket and slacks say;  “Dorothy,  You’re in Tennessee”.    I look out the window and see acres and acres of EMERALD green lawn.

There are giant mushroom paths leading the way to the Shady Acres Campground Office.

Hmmmm, I say to myself, “Why is the building upside down?”

I hop from mushroom top to mushroom top until I make my way inside.

I am greeted by Wanda,  who is dressed in a soaking wet t-shirt,  boasting an advertisement for Tennessee Moonshine!   She is waving a giant marshmallow roasting stick.   In the kindest,  gentlest voice she says,  “Welcome to Mushroom Land!”.
It is very hot in here,  95 degrees.   Wanda is sweating profusely,  hence the wet t-shirt.   She explains, “It’s the mushroom dew.  Once it starts you sweating,  it takes you hours to stop.”  She waves her giant marshmallow stick at me and instantly my t-shirt is soaked.
I leave Wanda,  thinking what a strange place this is,  “There’s No Place Like Home!”
Further down the mushroom path,  I hear giggling.  Out from behind the biggest mushroom on the path,  pops a little,  short,  stocky  boy and an identical short,  stocky  man.

Both are dressed in blue jean shorts that hang below their knees and wife beater t-shirts. They are both holding big mushroom lollipops.
The little boy is dancing about and asks if he can pet my dog.   I look down and my dog,  Doe Doe,  is  beside me.   She is sniffing a mushroom.

The man asks me if she is “A Mutt”.   Before I can answer he says,  “It’s O.K.  I’m not a pure breed either,  I’m a mongrel.”   I answer,  “None of us are perfect,  We’re all mongrels.”
Smiling, Doe Doe and I head further down the path.  We meet an extremely large hairy man.   He is wrestling with a very big,  mean looking dog.  The man’s long reddish-brown hair and bushy beard are a mess.  Both his hair and clothes are covered with the dog’s slobber.  Doe Doe  thinks they are playing and wants to join in on the fun.   In a very soft, gentle voice the man apologetically says,  ” Sorry,  my dog doesn’t know how to play well with others.   I need courage to train him.”  Doe Doe is disappointed,  but we move on.
We are almost to our campsite,  when we encounter a noisy,  shaggy dog.

He is standing in a pile of straw,  yipping and yapping like crazy.   I turn to Doe Doe,  who is standing,  quietly watching  its  antics.   I say,  “That dog has no brain.   Nobody wants to play with a yippee,  yapping,  noisy dog.”
Good thing we’re almost in Kansas!