by Pa Rock
Road Warrior
Rosie and I are back at The Roost following what seemed to be an exceptionally long day on the road. One of the things that I do to pass the time on these nearly five-hour drives is to mentally collect curiosities that I encounter while driving. This time I came across one on the way north that caught my attention and stimulated a grin or two.
The scene came into view along the side of the highway somewhere in the vicinity of Clinton, Missouri. Someone had decorated a stretch of woods bordering the road with a bunch of junk - bird cages hanging form trees, wind chimes, odd pieces of metal, garments and scraps of garments, and all manner of hillbilly treasure blowing in the breeze of the passing cars and trucks. Then, to ward off people pulling over and going through the stuff in search of bargains, the artist, collector, hoarder, or whatever, had erected a large four by eight-foot sign home-lettered with the message: "Nothing for Sale."
Well, hell, thought I, and drove on!
Road Warrior
Rosie and I are back at The Roost following what seemed to be an exceptionally long day on the road. One of the things that I do to pass the time on these nearly five-hour drives is to mentally collect curiosities that I encounter while driving. This time I came across one on the way north that caught my attention and stimulated a grin or two.
The scene came into view along the side of the highway somewhere in the vicinity of Clinton, Missouri. Someone had decorated a stretch of woods bordering the road with a bunch of junk - bird cages hanging form trees, wind chimes, odd pieces of metal, garments and scraps of garments, and all manner of hillbilly treasure blowing in the breeze of the passing cars and trucks. Then, to ward off people pulling over and going through the stuff in search of bargains, the artist, collector, hoarder, or whatever, had erected a large four by eight-foot sign home-lettered with the message: "Nothing for Sale."
Well, hell, thought I, and drove on!
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