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!
