Wednesday, July 24, 2013
Nothing To Complain About
I’ve been running out of things to complain about lately. And that bodes ill for the blog. So I’ve been cogitating on ways to stir up a little trouble, but repeatedly it all comes to naught. For instance, the moment I moved down here on the Arkansas River I saw this sign tacked to a bristle-come pine:
Mining claim? Should I expect dredgers at dawn, peeling away all this bankside beauty and running the revealed gravel through giant noisome mechanical shakers? I was beginning to take a real dislike to John Hart, though I’d never met the man. Then later in the day I was having coffee out under the endangered pine when a guy walked right through my campsite and behind my chair to peer up at that notice.
“You know what it means?”
“Panning claim. This guy Hart has a lock on panning here. You him?”
“Ah, no. Panning, huh? So no giant dredgers, then?”
“He can use a hand dredger. But he’s supposed to put it back like it was.” And with that he was off and up the trail.
I called after him. “Where you headed?”
“To find the end of this claim.”
Ah, there’s a man with something to complain about. Dreams of Avarice. But they’re his, not mine.
I have no idea what a “hand dredger” looks like. Mr. Internet would know, but out here at the edge of cyberspace it’s like I’ve been lobotomized.
Let’s see. I could complain about the new campsite, but it’s darn pleasant here. Not only right on the water, but a far sight from my nearest neighbor.
Too bad I lost all the pictures from July. Just think of a roaring river just below a bluff. That's it.
It rained a bit yesterday, redeemed later by a sky full of stars, and almost a full moon. Bright enough to walk around by, which I did, but not to wander into the bushes. So I peed in the middle of the road. Then I took a picture. No, it didn't survive.
And then there was dawn.
I dunno. I just can’t find anything to complain about. Except…well, there is always the Ultimate Complaint, the complaint that Satan had with Heaven.
“This place is just too damn perfect!”
Maybe I can do something about that. O yeah, I could lose all the pictures in a hard drive crash.
Posted by Bob Giddings at 10:07 AM