Tallahassee's Lake Jackson memories reach beyond Florida borders

The Tallahassee Democrat reported recently that the area's current two-year dry spell may soon be over, which is good news for Lake Jackson.

It's sho'nuff good news for our community.

And it's good news for some folks who live slap-dang at the top of Georgia, too.

Here's how I know. Not too long ago I received an e-mail from Shannon Love, who lives in northern Georgia, just below the Tennessee line. There's no need for me to go into details since Shannon gave me permission to use his e-mail and some photographs he sent to me, so I'll let those speak for themselves.

I hope you enjoy Shannon's letter as much as I did. I'm sure you'll be inspired to slip in an extra prayer or two for rain when you say your prayers tonight. I know I will.

Hello, my name is Shannon Love and while trying to get some updated information on Lake Jackson today I found your site on Google.

I read an entry on your blog from about a year ago entitled "The New Legend of Lake Jackson" and I was almost in tears after reading that and the responses from your readers. My dad discovered Lake Jackson back in '69, the year I was born, after an unsuccessful trip to Eufala and a tradition was started.

With the exception of when it went dry back in the early eighties and the most recent draining he and his buddies made the eight hour drive down there twice a year every year (we live in northern Georgia just below Chattanooga).

I've heard so many stories about Red & Sam's and they never get old. I got to see the famed Red & Sam's myself back in the late '70s when Dad brought me along on my first trip to Jackson. In the mid to late '80s, when I started coming down there a little more often with Dad and the rest of the gang, we stayed in trailers at Sunset. I still remember Arlene and Maxine's smiling faces behind the bar.

After I graduated high school I was able to come down more often, sometimes without Dad but with my friends, guys my own age. I was hoping to carry on the tradition with a new generation of bass anglers but sadly she went dry and has never recovered.

I miss drifting shiners in Church's Cove and Midlake or fishing the pads in "Gator Hole."

My dad has several photo albums full of pictures from '69 all the way through their last trip down back in the late '90s. They bring back great memories of friends that are still with us and some who have moved on.

Back in '02 on our way to Panama City for vacation, I took a detour to Tallahassee to show my wife Lake Jackson even though it wasn't up to its former splendor.

My dad turns 71 this year and while he's still an avid fisherman up here and has tried other lakes in Florida but nothing would please me more than if she would recover and he and the surviving members of the old gang could fish her again.

Lake Jackson is Hallowed Ground that holds nearly 30 years worth of memories for Dad and his friends and several sweet memories for myself. It's one of the most beautiful places anywhere.

Thanks for reading, Shannon

Left: Shannon Love's dad at Red & Sam's

Left: Shannon Love with his Lake Jackson catch

Left: Shannon Love's dad and the crew that came down to fish Lake Jackson

Old People

My Ol' Man and I are on the finishing end of a major home-renovation project.

Thank goodness it's not a do-it-yourselfer. And praise be that the Ol' Man works in a city four hours away and isn't readily available to make decor choices, or our union could've ended up on the finishing end, too.

It's just that his vision of how things ought to look and mine differ.

A lot.

No need for details here. Anyone who's done this type of thing knows what I'm talking about. And those who haven't, well, you'll have to learn on your own.

Yesterday I e-mailed the Ol' Man a photo of some living room furniture for which I lusteth. Let me tell you, this gorgeous set belongs on the new cinnamon maple hardwood floor that I picked out.

It wouldn't look quite as good on the hardwood-look-on-vinyl floor covering he chose.

I wrote in the e-mail that I wanted that sofa, loveseat and chair for our 21st wedding anniversary (which was yesterday and for which he could not be home).

Sometimes you've gotta throw in a little guilt trip to get what you want, ladies.

The Ol' Man promptly e-mailed back. He wasn't impressed with my choice. "Isn't this old-people furniture?" he wrote.

With my reply I hoped to bring him back to the reality that we're the parents of a 20-year-old and a 15-year-old.

"We're old people," I wrote back. "Now get me my old-people furniture."

Florida Legislature lets truckers keep Truck Nutz

Truckers keep Truck Nutz.

This fall we can choose to lose

the Elected Nutz.

Florida loves caveats; hates truck danglies

A friend and I were discussing the Florida Legislature's recent action on "Truck Nutz," a fad that surely would have gone away on its own, given some time.

We talked about how some folks will probably test the ban's enforcement by ignoring the law.

"I can caveat that," said my friend. "I can take a pair of pantyhose and a couple of tennis balls, a little cut here and a little cut there, tie some knots and then throw them over the tow bar and have my own truck danglers, except it wouldn't be against the law because it's just pantyhose and tennis balls."

"Whoa, back up," I said, "You can what?"

"I can take a pair of pantyhose ..."

I stopped him. "No, not that, before that. You said you can 'caveat that.' What does you can 'caveat that' mean?"

His superior college-degreed eyes rolled a little and then focused back on me. "I told you, I can caveat that. I'd take a pair of pantyhose and some tennis balls ..."

Yeah. If I'd had some pantyhose and tennis balls right then, I would've caveated him upside the head.

Miss Trashahassee's identity revealed

The jig is up. I knew it wouldn't last forever.

Some clown has done gone and told everyone who I am, dang it.

I need me a beer.

Names have been changed to protect the guilty

Yesterday I had an interesting encounter as I walked to my vehicle after work.

A man on the street shuffled over to me and asked if I'd drive him "down the road." This gent had apparently enjoyed a few, or maybe a bunch of, swigs from a bottle of must-be-over-21-years-old-to-purchase juice that afternoon.

I told him no. And then, feeling the need to apologize, I said, "I'm sorry, but I just can't because I don't know you."

That was not what he wanted to hear. He moved his arm in a sweeping motion toward the courthouse and announced, "My name is John Smith, the judge knows me, the other judge knows me, the public defender knows me, you can ask them."

"That's all fine and good, Mr. Smith, but I don't know you," I replied, pointing to myself for emphasis on the "I don't know you" part.

"I just told you who I was," he said. "I'm John Smith. Now you know me."

I shook my head. "No, Mr. Smith, I do not know you." Then I asked him if he'd want his daughter to give a ride to someone off the street, someone she didn't know. I had no idea if he even has a daughter.

John Smith took a moment to chew on that thought.

"No," he said after a minute. He wouldn't want his daughter to drive a man she didn't know "down the road."

"Then, Mr. Smith, I would expect that you wouldn't want me to upset my dad and give you a ride since I don't know you," I told him as I opened the driver's side door.

"I just told you who I was," he repeated, sounding a little irritated. "I'm John Smith. You can ask the judge, you can ask ...."

As I drove away, in my rearview mirror I saw John Smith shuffling down the road.

My soldier cried today

My soldier-husband, one of our sons and I met a friend early this morning at a local restaurant for breakfast.

While we waited for our food, our friend asked my husband about the POW bracelet he was wearing. They chatted about the bracelet and how she'd worn a similar one herself during the Vietnam era. She reported that her soldier returned home safely, which was good news.

I looked down to open my straw for my Diet Pepsi and when I looked up, my husband was no longer seated at the table. Our friend directed my attention toward a television on the other side of the room. My soldier was standing in front of it, watching a news report.

When he returned to the table, he told us he'd seen the name of the POW on his bracelet appear on the television screen, and since we were discussing it right at that moment, he wanted to see if there were any new developments.

There were.

The news was that the Army had just informed the family of Sgt. Keith Matthew Maupin that his remains had been found.

Tears in his eyes, my soldier grieved right there in the restaurant for this young man and his family, a fellow soldier, a brother, yet someone he'd never met.

And while my soldier-husband may not be able to fully imagine the heartache the Maupin family has felt for the past four years -- or other families who have lost their sons and daughters since America was attacked -- his grief is still very real.

After all, even though the chances of Sgt. Maupin returning home safely were slim, my husband had hoped for the best.

That's why he wore the bracelet that reads "SSG Keith (Matt) Maupin - Ohio USAR 04092004 Iraq POW."