CAMPOut: Fay's Rehoboth Journal

As a distraction from the presidential race, Bonnie, who feared I was headed for the funny farm for screaming back to the talking heads on TV, took me to an actual farm instead.

As a distraction from the results of said election, which I am certain is mentioned elsewhere in this publication, I will share my rural adventures with you.

Our destination was Hillsville, Virginia, in the southwest section of the state—in hillbilly vernacular, Bonnie’s father’s "homeplace" and home to some of Bonnie’s most treasured relatives.

Feeling like that traveling gnome in the TV ads, I tried to unwind as we headed down Route 81 into some beautiful fall foliage and weird sights.

First there was Foamhenge—a life size Styrofoam replica of England’s Stonehenge, propped in an open field off the highway. Somebody had waaaay too much time on their hands.

Next, on an even more rural route I saw my first wild turkey outside a shot glass.

Zipping past signs for Taters, Maters & Pumpkins, we arrived in tiny Hillsville.

The relatives were great, welcoming us with bounteous hospitality and politely overlooking our Kerry/Edwards bumper sticker.

In between a local pumpkin festival, biscuits and gravy, and a visit to a historic mill along the Blue Ridge Parkway, I glimpsed a newspaper headline about John Kerry "outing" Mary Cheney. Oh, puleeeze. She’s been a professional lesbian for years. Wanting the scoop, I grabbed my cell phone but found no signal anywhere throughout the state park. Desperate, I eyed two female park rangers who looked, very, um, strong and handsome in their uniforms. Should I sidle up and say, "How ‘bout that big old lesbo Mary Cheney???" Not only was my cell phone out of range, but my gaydar didn’t seem to be working either. Couldn’t tell. Chickened out.

As we drove past the New Hope Primitive Baptist Church, where Bonnie vaguely recalled attending church services with her grandparents, my cell phone warbled. Despite the static I thought I recognized Kathy from the CAMP office wanting to know if I wished to comment on the Mary Cheney story to the News Journal?

If I knew something about it I would have. Before I lost the signal entirely I explained that I was in a rural news blackout and couldn’t possibly comment intelligently.

My god, I was missing the biggest lesbian flap of all time. No cell service, no internet, and, when we got back home, nothing on TV but Nascar, god help me. I was so frustrated I wanted to go out into the woods and poop with the bears.

Resigned to L word ignorance, I told Bonnie I was going out to visit Uncle Seldon’s cows. A gaggle of relatives watched, amused, since nobody before me had ever announced a cow visit. Tromping through the field, careful not to step on what I was told were cow pies, I came to an area of taller grass.

"I wouldn’t cross there," Bonnie said, chasing after me.

"Why not? There are footprints here, somebody’s been through."

Whereupon I plunged ankle deep in water, realizing too late, that the footprints belonged to Flossy and her friends. One look at my bovine buddies and I knew where the cheese brand Laughing Cow came from. Bonnie couldn’t resist either.

"Hey, cows, what do you know about this Mary Cheney thing?" They turned their backs and lumbered off. I tried not to take it personally.

Chagrined, and with soggy socks, I returned to the farmhouse to provide more guffaws for the kin.

"What are the hay bales for?" I asked.

"Well, we’ll bring some into the barn and then we’ll…"

"Why have them delivered to the field if you are going to move them to the barn?" I asked

earnestly.

"Delivered ????" an aunt stuttered.

Call me pathologically urban, but I thought giant farm vehicles delivered the bales directly to the field from some kind of hay bale dispensary. Who knew that the field itself manufactured the hay and a farm vehicle came along, scooped it up and spit it out as a bale. Duh. For the rest of the weekend the clan retold my hay bale faux pas to whoever arrived at the house. They enjoyed toying with the damned Yankee more than watching Dale Earnhardt, Jr.

But alas, eventually it was time to go North. We’d had such a genuinely wonderful visit I almost forgot about the presidential race, not to mention my complete ignorance of the the biggest dyke drama since the unfortunate Anne Heche.

We bade a fond farewell to Hillsville and headed home. Despite my best attempts, I was still incommunicado, with only the farm report and bluegrass music on the radio. Not a word about the Veep’s Uber-lesbian daughter.

On Skyline Drive, frustrated by the news vacuum, I suggested we sight-see. "There’s a waterfall at the next rest area described as the closest waterfall to any parking lot in the Shenandoah Valley—only a 1.5 mile round trip from the parking lot."

So we got out and walked. Straight down a long and winding trail. The descent was tricky, but not too awful.

We finally made it the three quarters of a mile down to the waterfall, and it was indeed a lovely sight.

Not so lovely was the sight of me, wheezing and bitching on the way back up. Geez, it didn’t seem that steep on the way down. I tried to keep a game face for those dumb folks still passing us on their way to the stupid waterfall, but the climb up was an ordeal.

Amid my struggle to ascend, a man passed us, carrying a three-year-old on his shoulders.

"Things could be worse," Bonnie said, "you could be carrying that weight."

"I am," I said, "but it’s on my thighs."

With aching calves and burning lungs, I rested on a boulder mid-way up and wondered how embarrassing would it be to call a park ranger to haul me out on a gurney?

Eventually we made it back to the parking lot base camp, where I leaned on the hood of the car, gasping for air.

"Gotta stop smoking," I said.

"You don’t smoke," said Bonnie.

"Right," I said. "Then why was this such a bitch?"

"We’re old," she said. "Those endorphins will kick in soon and you’ll feel great."

Well, my endorphins did kick in, but it wasn’t until I finally got my hands on a newspaper and read, with disgust, that Lynn Cheney called Kerry’s mention of her daughter a "cheap and tawdry political trick."

That just goes to show how ashamed she must be of her own lesbian daughter. You’d think Kerry had outed her six year old child. No, Kerry merely referred to her 35-year old political operative daughter who was running the campaign that supported a constitutional amendment against her own lifestyle.

Forget the trek up from the waterfall. After this election, gay pride is the real uphill climb. Pass me my oxygen mask, I’m rested and ready.