That's a fine head of hair, right? I can't get over it.
Several summers in a row during grade school, Daddy Joe's family managed church camp at Petit Jean Mountain outside Little Rock, Arkansas. Joe, his brothers and sisters had KP duty, general cleaning and odd jobs around the camp to help out.
One time Joe decided to skip out on his work and took a shortcut through the woods to take a dip in a swimming hole. But on his merry way, he stepped on a black snake. The idea kind of gives me the shivers (or maybe it's this cold Starbucks, but either way, I'm creeped out). Luckily, the snake had its mouth full of rabbit at the time. And Daddy Joe never skipped out of that chore again.
I'm seeing a common theme here with my grandparents: avoiding work, shortcuts through woods, snakes. Meant to be, I guess.
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