I only LOOK harmless
Kristin reminded me of a story last night, and suggested I post it.
Several years ago, we went to a small dude ranch in northeast Alabama. The dude ranch wasn't our primary destination; we just meandered into it as a way to kill some time one day while we were on a weekend getaway.
The Shady Grove Dude Ranch is an offshoot of the Cloudmont Ski and Golf Resort. If you've never heard of the Cloudmont Ski and Golf resort, it's because you're not one of the truly hip and with-it people. Cloudmont doesn't advertise; its select clientele just KNOWS about it, and flocks to its rustic A-frame cabins as a retreat from the hustle and bustle of their star-studded lives. John McCain might own a house there, but he's not really sure.
Here's how far away from the hustle and bustle you can get at Cloudmont: The furnishings in the little A-frame cabins haven't been updated in 40 years. Brown and orange dominate the color scheme. The light fixture in the den/living room/kitchen combo is a wagon-wheel chandelier. This place redefines the word "rustic" so that the new definition includes the words "tacky" and "old."
Anyway, we were spending a weekend at Cloudmont Ski and Golf Resort. Naturally, we neither ski nor golf. So we had to look for other ways to spend our time. Ogling the rich and famous celebrities, politicians and great thinkers of our time who had flocked to the Cloudmont Ski and Golf Resort was entertaining for a while, but eventually we grew bored with such plebian excitement. So we decided to explore the surrounding area, and we lucked on the Shady Grove Dude Ranch.
We knew the Shady Grove Dude Ranch would be a great place to visit, because it was run by the same people who owned the Cloudmont Ski and Golf Resort. Plus, it had its own airfield -- a long grassy patch staked out in a pasture, with signs posted periodically warning the cows not to wander in front of a landing plane. Apparently the cows at the Shady Grove Dude Ranch can read.
So the culture was just oozing out from everywhere as we drove up. There was a tiny, tiny building that had the word "Store" written over the door, and we went in there to ask them about riding horses. (They let you ride horses at the Shady Grove Dude Ranch, which I think is an excellent idea, and more dude ranches should try this. It could revolutionize the dude-ranch industry.) The nice lady behind the counter said the next trail ride was due to leave in a half-hour, and we could explore the Shady Grove Dude Ranch until then.
There were a number of people wandering around the Shady Grove Dude Ranch, along with some horses in a barn, some cows, and a big square fenced-off area where the nice lady in the Store said they buried "horses and the family members of the owners." Next to the Store were two rustic cabins. The first one had a sign over the door that said "The Farm House;" the second (and smaller) cabin had a sign that said "The Round-Up Lodge."
I suggested to Kristin that we might want to stay here on our next trip to northeast Alabama, to get even more rustic-ness into our system. So I moseyed toward the porch of The Farm House. The door was open, so I moseyed on in. I figured I'd see what the accommodations were like.
What struck me first off was the number of people who were in The Farm House. I didn't realize the Shady Grove Dude Ranch would have so many staffers, especially just for one cabin. I thought to myself, "The service level here must be out of this world."
I wandered over to the kitchen area, where a woman was washing dishes. She looked at me for a moment, but didn't stop. I just nodded; no sense interrupting the servants as they worked.
Then I noticed that some of the hired help were just lounging around on chairs. That seemed odd to me; even if they were lazy by nature, surely they'd want my first impression of the Shady Grove Dude Ranch to be very favorable.
I decided this might not be a great place to stay, after all. I wasn't impressed with the attitude of the staff as a whole. I was walking out of the door, to rejoin Kristin (who had waited outside), when I heard one of the staffers say, "Who was that?"
And I realized in a flash what was going on. These weren't staffers -- this was a group of people who'd rented out The Farm House for the weekend. They were guests. They had just finished breakfast, and were relaxing, when this weirdo strange guy walked in, wandered around a bit, checked out how well the dishes were being washed, and then wandered back out.
I grabbed Kristin's arm and pulled her toward the car. She kept asking me "What's going on? Why aren't we staying to ride the horses?"
I said, "Because I think the cops are going to come arrest me for breaking and entering. Well, there wasn't any breaking, exactly, but there was entering."
When I told her what I'd done, she was mortified and tickled at the same time. As befits a good wife, she doesn't bring this story up very much, because she knows how much it embarrasses me. She'll only talk about it if you get her drunk, or pay her large sums of money, or ask her about it, or say something about being embarrassed by your spouse, or if the Earth is spinning.
Several years ago, we went to a small dude ranch in northeast Alabama. The dude ranch wasn't our primary destination; we just meandered into it as a way to kill some time one day while we were on a weekend getaway.
The Shady Grove Dude Ranch is an offshoot of the Cloudmont Ski and Golf Resort. If you've never heard of the Cloudmont Ski and Golf resort, it's because you're not one of the truly hip and with-it people. Cloudmont doesn't advertise; its select clientele just KNOWS about it, and flocks to its rustic A-frame cabins as a retreat from the hustle and bustle of their star-studded lives. John McCain might own a house there, but he's not really sure.
Here's how far away from the hustle and bustle you can get at Cloudmont: The furnishings in the little A-frame cabins haven't been updated in 40 years. Brown and orange dominate the color scheme. The light fixture in the den/living room/kitchen combo is a wagon-wheel chandelier. This place redefines the word "rustic" so that the new definition includes the words "tacky" and "old."
Anyway, we were spending a weekend at Cloudmont Ski and Golf Resort. Naturally, we neither ski nor golf. So we had to look for other ways to spend our time. Ogling the rich and famous celebrities, politicians and great thinkers of our time who had flocked to the Cloudmont Ski and Golf Resort was entertaining for a while, but eventually we grew bored with such plebian excitement. So we decided to explore the surrounding area, and we lucked on the Shady Grove Dude Ranch.
We knew the Shady Grove Dude Ranch would be a great place to visit, because it was run by the same people who owned the Cloudmont Ski and Golf Resort. Plus, it had its own airfield -- a long grassy patch staked out in a pasture, with signs posted periodically warning the cows not to wander in front of a landing plane. Apparently the cows at the Shady Grove Dude Ranch can read.
So the culture was just oozing out from everywhere as we drove up. There was a tiny, tiny building that had the word "Store" written over the door, and we went in there to ask them about riding horses. (They let you ride horses at the Shady Grove Dude Ranch, which I think is an excellent idea, and more dude ranches should try this. It could revolutionize the dude-ranch industry.) The nice lady behind the counter said the next trail ride was due to leave in a half-hour, and we could explore the Shady Grove Dude Ranch until then.
There were a number of people wandering around the Shady Grove Dude Ranch, along with some horses in a barn, some cows, and a big square fenced-off area where the nice lady in the Store said they buried "horses and the family members of the owners." Next to the Store were two rustic cabins. The first one had a sign over the door that said "The Farm House;" the second (and smaller) cabin had a sign that said "The Round-Up Lodge."
I suggested to Kristin that we might want to stay here on our next trip to northeast Alabama, to get even more rustic-ness into our system. So I moseyed toward the porch of The Farm House. The door was open, so I moseyed on in. I figured I'd see what the accommodations were like.
What struck me first off was the number of people who were in The Farm House. I didn't realize the Shady Grove Dude Ranch would have so many staffers, especially just for one cabin. I thought to myself, "The service level here must be out of this world."
I wandered over to the kitchen area, where a woman was washing dishes. She looked at me for a moment, but didn't stop. I just nodded; no sense interrupting the servants as they worked.
Then I noticed that some of the hired help were just lounging around on chairs. That seemed odd to me; even if they were lazy by nature, surely they'd want my first impression of the Shady Grove Dude Ranch to be very favorable.
I decided this might not be a great place to stay, after all. I wasn't impressed with the attitude of the staff as a whole. I was walking out of the door, to rejoin Kristin (who had waited outside), when I heard one of the staffers say, "Who was that?"
And I realized in a flash what was going on. These weren't staffers -- this was a group of people who'd rented out The Farm House for the weekend. They were guests. They had just finished breakfast, and were relaxing, when this weirdo strange guy walked in, wandered around a bit, checked out how well the dishes were being washed, and then wandered back out.
I grabbed Kristin's arm and pulled her toward the car. She kept asking me "What's going on? Why aren't we staying to ride the horses?"
I said, "Because I think the cops are going to come arrest me for breaking and entering. Well, there wasn't any breaking, exactly, but there was entering."
When I told her what I'd done, she was mortified and tickled at the same time. As befits a good wife, she doesn't bring this story up very much, because she knows how much it embarrasses me. She'll only talk about it if you get her drunk, or pay her large sums of money, or ask her about it, or say something about being embarrassed by your spouse, or if the Earth is spinning.