2023 in Review

 2023 was, bluntly, a bitch.  

My wife unexpectedly passed in March.

Were she famous, a future history book might say something along the lines of "Katherine, age 57, passed suddenly, following a heart attack (due to low blood pressure caused by a GI bleed), in the morning of March 17, 2023.  She left behind a husband and 6 children, ranging in age from 31 to 9."

What would not be said was the affect her passing left on her kids, the youngest four still in school, or her husband, now raising them as a single father.

The full effect on the children can only be guessed at - after all, they are still growing, and coming to terms with their loss.  All four have gone to some form of grief counseling, and are adjusting as well as could be hoped. 

The husband - me - has not fared as well.

All tasks once divided between the spouses now falls to me.  That is not anything new to humanity - single parents have probably existed since marriage was instituted - but it both new and unexpected to me.  My kids are adjusting to the new division of labor, cleaning when made to, picking up when forced, and making dinner (and washing dishes) when reminded.  All in all, we are surviving.

All future plans have gone away - there will be no "long weekend" trips along the gulf coast to discover potential retirement spots, no expected trip with the family to Disney, or Hawaii, or anywhere else, for example.  No days spent dreaming of sipping coffee in our twilight years, no weekends spent watching the grandkids.  All vanished, suddenly.

As for me, I find the present both disturbing and oppressive, where my life is filled with things I must do - responsibilities - and very few wants get fulfilled.  When I have free time, I tend to focus on the bleak - that I have a greater than zero chance of dying before I see all my kids graduate high school, for example.  

I have searched for companionship.  I find I am not in a "normal" spot - At 57, there are many single women my age, through divorce or death.  Most are near retirement, and empty nesters - I am neither.  When I look at women who have kids still at home (and looking at an 8 to 10 year runway for graduation), I find myself with more in common with mid 40's than mid 50's - except I have little else in common with mid 40's women.

When I step back and look at the big picture, my life is good - I have 6 kids who are becoming (or are) productive members of society.  My bills are paid, I have heat and food, and a car that runs fine.

I just want more.  

There are no "normal" kids in Foster Care.

Let's be honest - foster care is the least objectionable option from a bunch of bad possibilities.

No child should be without their parents, so for DCS to decide that a child is better off AWAY from their parent than with them indicates that the parents have made a long series of poor decisions, whether addiction, alcoholism, neglect, or physical, emotional, or sexual abuse.

To be placed in Foster Care normally means that there are no blood relatives that are stable enough, or willing, to take care of the child.

To decide that a stranger is better able to care for this child than a parent or relative must mean that the other options were horrible.  And the child, freshly removed from his home, has just entered a new world - the "Foster Zone". 

My wife and I have been foster parents for a few years now.  It is certainly not something I recommend for everyone - or anyone - but it has brought some very special children into our life.  Our goal, as we have told the children in the first few days of care, is to watch over them and keep them safe until they can be returned to their parent(s).  They become "ours" on the first day, which means age-appropriate chores, following the family rules about behavior, bedtime, and such, and generally becoming a part of our family for the time they are here.

Our first foster boy was here 6 months (when the plan was for 2 or 3 months).  We found out, with him, that 1) DCS and our foster agency don't normally lie to us, but they really have no answers to any questions, and 2) Raising children traumatized by being removed from their parent is VERY unlike raising your own child - they have different ideas of what the rules should be, they don't believe their parent did anything wrong (even though there was abuse by the only parent), and will see any form of affection toward the foster parent as a betrayal of their own parent.

There are many joys of fostering children.  Rarely have I seen how big a difference can be made in a child's life as simply providing stability to a pre-school child - a consistent bedtime, 3 meals every day, a warm bed to sleep in, a safe place to play - the things that I never thought about until I met someone who lacked them.  But with each joy there is a sorrow - trying to comfort a 2 year old who doesn't understand why mommy isn't coming for her visitation again, for example.

We have had Weston for 2 years, 1 month, and 15 days.  His mother, like so many other parents of foster children, has problems with addiction.  For the first 15 months or so, the plan was for reunification - returning him to his mother - but she was unable to abide by the required guidelines.  After 15 months, DCS pursued a TPR - Termination of Parental Rights - at which point he became a ward of the state.

We have been winding our way through the system for adoption since then.  Now, after what seems like an incredibly long time, my wife and I are about to finalize the adoption of Weston Garrett Davis.
I am almost 52 years old.  I will be 66 when he graduates high school, and 70 when he graduates college.  I question my sanity.  I have always questioned my wife's sanity.

BUT he will make life more interesting, and my youngest daughter is something she never thought she would be - a big sister.

I suspect we will have many difficult discussions about his biological mom.  He will be told that he was chosen to be part of our family, that even though he wasn't born to us, he was PLACED here.  And hopefully that will be what he needs.

Who knows how he will feel.  He may struggle, as many adoptees do.  Or he may be the most perfectly adjusted person in the world.

Either way, wish him a "Happy Adoption Day" if you see him.  He knows it is a big deal.  He just doesn't understand why, yet. 

Back to the Back...

Let's be honest - I would frequent Rodney Dangerfield's stores in "Back to School" - the "Big and Fat" stores,

I had no say in the "Big" part - I come from a long line of taller than average males on both sides of my family.  The "Fat" part is almost assuredly 100% me.  But, my weight has been stable for 15 years or more, so I think I am what I am.

Last August (2016), I was doing something fairly simple - putting a trailer on a hitch - when I felt a twinge in my back.  By that evening, the pain was excruciating.  Several sleepless nights and unproductive days followed.  The pain improved, slightly, but always returned as bad, or worse.  My doc put me on a round of steroids, which helped a lot, and muscle relaxers, which did not help at all, and suggested a specialist, who needed an MRI before he would see me.

Squeezing into the cannon breech that is the MRI was made easier by my choice of music, my wife holding my hands, and an almost fatal amount of Xanax.

Eventually, December rolled around, and my appointment with the specialist arrived.  The diagnosis was not pretty - severe Spinal Stenosis through my entire lumbar region.  The incident in August had perhaps caused the muscles to flare up, but it did NOT cause my continual pain.  Doctor's advice?  Wait until I couldn't stand it anymore, consider spinal injections to delay the surgery if I chose, then surgery - full L1 - L5 Laminectomies.

I left, pleased to have a diagnosis, but disappointed that nothing would be done for an indefinite period of time.

After Christmas, I had an epiphany - The longer I waited, the older I would be, AND the older I would be, the slower my healing would progress.  Not only that, but I had no desire to remain in pain for an undefined period of time until some arbitrary threshold of pain was exceeded.  The back problems had already cost me one year of deer hunting, something I truly enjoy, and I was not anxious to lose another.  I called the doc, and set up an appointment for March, which the surgeon agreed to if I took some physical therapy first (since insurance would probably require it anyway).

Physical therapy was torture.  I am sure some of the exercises were strengthening my core, but my round of PT ended with me in more pain and with less mobility than I started with.  Returning to the neurosurgeon mid-March, surgery was scheduled for April 20, 2017, and the nerves began to kick in.

The day of surgery I was surprisingly calm.  The back had quieted down for the last couple weeks, as if it was trying to avoid the impending end of its control over my life.  They wheeled me into the surgery room and - suddenly I was in recovery.  A little over 4 hours had passed, and I knew my mind was not functioning fully yet.  I kept staring at the clock, trying to keep time from slipping from me again.

After being placed in my room, I was able to rest, and eat a little.  The pain with medication was bearable, but the drain in the middle of my back hurt to lay on, and moving to my side was uncomfortable, but I was able to sleep without waking to shooting pain down my legs for the first time in almost a year.  Sitting upright brought a sharp jolt of pain at the small of my back, and standing was a matter of willpower over the discomfort.  But stand I did, with the help of a small nurse and a walker.  Later, the same day of my surgery, I walked the halls - mostly because I wanted the catheter out, and needed to be able to get up before they would remove it.

Three nights I spent in the hospital, each day better and more active than the last.  When I left, i still needed a walker, but the pain was less daily.  I was down to oral pain killers, and a muscle relaxer.  Sitting was still more uncomfortable than standing or laying down, but I could manage for a while.  I was able to return to working, from home, on that Monday, 4 days after my surgery.  The Norco took away my pain, but also a good bit of my logical thinking, so hopefully I made no permanently bad decisions the first couple days home.

A major threshold was crossed one week after surgery.  I had stopped the pain killers, and my pain was LESS than it had been before surgery.  Sitting was still uncomfortable, but standing and walking was almost pain free.  I ordered a walking stick from Amazon (since it is much cooler than a cane, and made me look more like a slightly warped old-testament prophet rather than a broken down old man).

A month after surgery, I returned to the surgeon.  My incision was healing nicely (although it itches like the dickens), and all of my restrictions (lifting, bending, turning, riding the lawn mower, getting back on my motorcycle) were lifted - except one.  It will be another month before I can golf.  So, until then, I can blame my poor performance on the golf course on my messed up back.  Once I begin golfing just as bad as before, though, I'll need a new excuse.

If you have back problems, talk to a knowledgeable specialist.  Yes, there are horror stories about failed surgeries, especially with spinal fusion (something I have not had to consider).  But if the pain can be relieved, it should be considered.  Recovery is not easy - when is any recovery easy? - but in my case, it was very manageable.

Thanks for reading.

Ladies and Gentlemen, your next president is...

Yesterday was Election Day in the US.  American's voted, and Donald Trump is our 45th president.

Talking heads, political pundits, and Pol-Sci professors will exam this election for years, about how the media got the polls wrong, and how the demographics of the voters favored Trump, and so on and so on.  I have my own opinions on why an individual with no political experience was elected - and it will not come as a shock to anyone who works for a living. 

First, the thought of Hillary Clinton continuing Barack Obama's Liberal-Progressive agenda was unacceptable, where many of us are much worse of than we were under George W. Bush due to higher taxes, healthcare costs, and general governmental impositions. 

Secondly, Hillary Clinton was a strongly disliked career politician, and her failure to separate herself from Obama's policies was a mistake.  Her continuing private email scandal (and, let's face it - if it were you or I who mishandled secret information the way she did, we would be in jail - just ask Chelsea Manning), and the WikiLeaks dump of the Podesta emails confirmed the belief that she was untrustworthy or criminal.

Lastly, I think people were just pissed off.  I personally voted predominantly Republican, although I did support Libertarian candidates (including Gary Johnson) where possible.  Through a corrupted primary process, the candidates were not really the choice of the people, and these certainly were NOT the best people for the highest office in the land.  But, between those choices, the people voted for change, rather than more of the same.  A tip for future candidates - when you are courting undecided voters, calling the Americans who disagree with you "Deplorables" is probably not going to win you any votes.

Now, as a conservative, I am not really thrilled with The Donald.  I don't see him as a true Republican, and I can see continued gridlock in Washington as he deals with a truly conservative House and Senate.  I suspect he will be petty in seeking revenge for slights, and he just seems un-Presidential.  But, leaning Libertarian, I can't say I would be upset to see very few laws passed.

I'd like to comfort those Liberal friends of mine - and I think I still have a few.  Trump will not be as bad as you think.  He can't be any less transparent than Barack Obama (who pretended to be the most transparent president, while increasing government surveillance of citizens, and embraced the Patriot Act powers that so many hate), and he may actually restore a bit power to the states (rather than trying to consolidate all power at the Federal level).

My advice to everyone - breath.  Unless your name is Donald Trump, you didn't win anything last night.  Your family still needs to be protected, your community needs to heal, and the country is still in need of change (although we may disagree in which direction it should go).  Be gracious in victory, kind in defeat, and begin working towards a better America in your own family, community, and state.

America has survived Civil War, scandals, and terrorism.  Surely we can find a way to survive each other.

Peace and Love to you all.

Hooray for Our Side

Clowns to the left of me, jokers to the right,
Here I am, stuck in the middle with you

The above quote is from one of the songs that, in my mind, defines the 1960's, "Stuck in the Middle with You" by Stealers Wheel.  It shows the insanity that the late 1960's became, where civil discourse broke down, violence against authority heated up, and many were confused as to which side, if either, really represented America.

Another similarity I see with late 1960's music is from Buffalo Springfield's "For what it's Worth":

     There's battle lines being drawn
     Nobody's right if everybody's wrong

 and later:

     Singing songs and carrying signs
     Mostly say, hooray for our side

Everything old is new again.  The times are once again turbulent, people are more interested in pushing an agenda than debating and deciding what is best.  Everyone has their mouth open, but their ears closed.

Take the Black Lives Matter movement.  Does it appear Blacks are disproportionately killed by police?  Maybe.  In my (very limited) research, it appears that officers MAY be more heightened during a confrontation with a black man than a white man.  Blacks ARE disproportionately represented in prison. However, I do not see rioting as a solution.  If the black leaders are truly leaders (and I have my doubts), they should be directing their followers in methods that DO work - boycotts (hitting those in charge in their pocketbooks) work.  Organized demonstrations work.  But when the demonstrations become disorganized, or violent, they are counter productive.

In this case, as with so many others, people tend to be categorized in one of two different groups - Pro-BLM, or Anti-BLM.  For me, personally, and many of my friends, the issue is much more nuanced.  I cannot support the violence, or the outright disrespect being shown to the police officers, or the generally anti-white rhetoric being bandied about.  I do believe there is a problem with blacks being antagonized by police (in general), but I refuse to lump the good police officers in with the bad as an institution.  I also believe that addressing the way police perceive blacks and other minorities needs to include black-on-black crime, something that is killing blacks at a rate unheard of for a civilized people.     

The same lack of nuance exists in the presidential race.  The first debate is tonight, and I will, for the first time since Bush-Clinton-Perot, refuse to watch any of it.  I have already decided who I cannot vote for, and they are both invited to the debate.  Trump never let a fact get in the way of his version of the truth.  Hillary never let laws get in the way of profit or personal choices.  I trust neither of them.  I also have questions about the Libertarian candidate, Gary Johnson, namely whether he is truly a libertarian or just another politician.  

I identify as a Fiscal Conservative, and normally vote Republican, but I find myself leaning more and more Libertarian as government grows.  For those unsure what a Libertarian really is - and I was one of them relatively recently - I personally prefer this definition from "The Challenge of Democracy (6th edition)", by Kenneth Janda, Jeffrey Berry, and Jerry Goldman:

Liberals favor government action to promote equality, whereas conservatives favor government action to promote order. Libertarians favor freedom and oppose government action to promote either equality or order.

Now, before you start hitting me with "Any vote for Johnson is really a vote for ", let me hit you with a couple of facts.  Fact one, I don't care who wins, it is going to suck either way.  Fact two, living in Indiana, my vote won't mean jack - the state will go for Trump, and my single vote of conscience will not affect that.  IF I lived in a battlefield state, I might feel differently, but I don't, so I don't.

What I would like to do - and I encourage all my friends to try this as well - is to LISTEN to both sides.  They may not change your mind, but you may begin to find common ground, and lower the noise enough to actually see the issues.

Remember, vote early and often!

Why we don't eat at Denny's anymore.

   Today was another sad day, another mass-homicide, with some anti-Christian guy opening fire at a bunch of unarmed students in Umpqua Community College in Oregon.  President Obama wasted no time cajoling the "people" to elect officials who would do what he wants - enact "common Sense Gun reforms", although we clearly disagree on what "Common Sense" means.

   The president is correct in one aspect - we have become hardened to the realities of people obtaining weapons and killing innocents.  Whether it is white racist opening fire on a prayer group at a predominantly black church in the South, or a Gay, Black liberal man killing a white reporter and her cameraman, we have become calloused to the fact that lives are being taken.

   President Obama blames the easy availability of guns for this.  I respectfully disagree, and see that as a means of forcing his agenda on the American people.  I see bad men doing what bad men do - act violently - in places where law abiding citizens have been disarmed.  Before 9/11, the most deadly terrorist attack on American soil was Timothy McVeigh, who used his hate, some fertilizer, and heating oil to blow up most of a building in Oklahoma City.  Andrew Kehoe used dynamite to kill 38 school children in Bath Township, Michigan.  People who are planning to kill have no need of a specific weapon.  Even the Jonestown Massacre was mostly carried out with poison.

   What I see as the problem, especially in a well armed society like the US, is that most of these mass shootings take place in "Gun Free Zones", places that someone - The federal, state, or local government, the military, or the proprietor - has determined that law-abiding citizens must be unarmed.  There is a famous picture taken after Muhammad Youssef attacked the Army recruiting office in Chattanooga, Tennessee, showing the bullet riddled front door, along with the "Gun Free Zone" sticker.  Had the military been armed, he might never have been able to drive to the Navy facility and kill the 4 Marines and the Navy man.

   I understand there are some places that should be gun-free.  Jails, for example.  Court houses, where emotions could - conceivable - take over a normally stable individual.  But a Movie Theatre?  A restaurant?  A shopping mall?

   Sorry, I don't believe they should be "Gun Free".  See, I am an armed citizen, a LCH (License to Carry a Handgun) holder from Indiana.  And I do, on almost all occasions, exercise that right.  I understand the law - I know that if I pick my daughter up from school and stay in my car, my gun can remain in my holster (in Indiana - YMMV), but if I am walking her inside, I must secure it in my portable gun safe.  I understand that some states do not honor my permit (called Reciprocity), while others do, and I plan interstate drives accordingly. 

   I also understand, because I am a law abiding citizen, that some people have a fear of guns.  I choose to carry my weapon concealed, but I have friends who open carry.  Since you, as proprietor, have a right to dictate what goes on in your establishment, I will - when possible - honor that.  Denny's does not want any guns in their restaurant.  I comply, by staying out of them.  The local mall has a "Gun-Free sticker" on their doors, and I avoid going in there.  Some movie theaters have the "Gun Free Zone" stickers, and I choose others. 

   What I will not do is disarm myself for the sake of convenience. 

   I see my job as father and husband to protect my family, and that includes against physical violence.  I have never had to draw my weapon, and with the grace of God, I never will.  I have, on two different occasions, placed my hand inconspicuously on my weapon's handle when there was commotion around me.  Both times I watched, and the situation was diffused by either the participants, or me. 

   Being licensed to carry a weapon is not a license to be aggressive, like George Zimmerman.  It carries with it responsibilities beyond what a normal citizen is expected.  Two unarmed men shouting at each other is an argument.  If one of them is me, I have a moral responsibility to diffuse the situation - walk away, give in, separate from the altercation.  I am armed, and I know it - while the other does not.  If I goad him into escalating the situation, I am - morally, and possibly legally - at fault for whatever happens.

   But I will protect my family.  A criminal bent on destruction would find me a fairly accurate shooter, and viscous in my defense of my children.

   They just won't find me at Denny's.

We really needed a bigger boat.

Bad things sometimes happen when you go deer hunting.

People have been shot, fallen from tree stands, or had heart attacks from the strenuous hiking or tracking.

You can add "Drowning" to that list.

Two weeks ago, on opening day my hunting buddy Dan bagged himself an 8-point buck with a muzzle loader around the Patoka lake, just south of French Lick.  He was alone, because I was home sick with the flu.  Rather than drag the heavy (176 lbs field dressed) deer the couple miles back to the truck, he drug the deer a few hundred feet to the lakes edge, walked back to the truck, drove to a dock put his 12 foot canoe in the water and paddled around to retrieve the deer.  There may not have been much time saved, but the work was much less strenuous.

When I was finally able to go hunting, yesterday (11/29/2014), Dan - functioning as my field guide - decided we would put the canoe in the water with our gear, and paddle out to a piece of land that is difficult to access by foot, and should have very little hunter presence.  The air was warmer than it had been, above freezing for a change, but the wind was whipping at a steady 15 miles an hour, with higher gusts.  The lake was choppy, with 2 foot swells.

We put the canoe in anyway.

We traveled across the first inlet, heading into the wind, getting battered.  I made Dan put in before we rounded the point, and I hiked across the peninsula, arriving at the other side before him.  We talked, and while I figured it would be an hour or more for me to hike around the next inlet, I did not want to get back in the boat, so he paddled on, while I hunted my way around the inlet, seeing tons of Deer sign (and quite a bit of beaver-felled trees).

When we met up after the morning hunt, a bit after 11:30, we decided to head out, and either try a different location for the afternoon or evening, or just head home.  The wind would be working with us on the way back, so we hoped to make good time.

I still did not want to get back in the canoe, but my feet were blistering up since I hadn't worn these boots in over a year, and the idea of walking back wasn't appealing either.

We rounded the first peninsula and worked across the inlet without taking on too much water, but the ride was far from pleasant.  I wanted to go ashore, and walk around the last inlet, figuring if my gear stayed in the canoe, I could make decent time, but Dan assured me that we were only a few hundred yards from the dock, and we would make much better time this way.

We rounded the last point, and every wave began putting a little bit of water over the aft starboard gunwale.  A little closer, and little more water.  My feet began getting wet.  Then my ankles.  Then water began flowing over with abandon.

"Dude, we are going down!" I yelled to Dan.

"No, we're not!  Just a few hundred yards!" Dan yelled back, even as the water began taking the boat down.

I looked at my watch.  It was 12:15.

I am a good swimmer.  Even though I have grown fat and lazy, I remember my years of swimming lessons quite well, and I haven't lost much speed in the water.  But this is something completely different.  My life preserver was pulling my hunting jacket up, forcing me down.  My bib quickly filled with water, pulling me down.  My boots felt like they weighed a ton.

I was drowning.  "Dan, help me!" I called out.  When I could catch glimpses of him, he was swimming for shore - the right thing to do, but disheartening for me.  I swallowed way more water than I intended.

The water was cold - I was colder than I have ever been before, even though the temp was probably in the low 40's.  I struggled to stay afloat, and was losing.

Eventually I took off my life preserver but continued to hold it, and managed to untangle and get out of my hunting jacket.  I distinctly remember watching the jacket float away, and thinking "why, if it floats, was it pulling me down?"

Dan had made it to a buoy a hundred yards from shore.  I headed for him.  "Get my boots off, Dan!" I begged.  He swam towards me, and managed to cut the laces on one boot.  I pulled the boot off, and like the jacket, I watched it float away.  A few minutes later I made it to the buoy, but my heart sank when I realized it was useless to hold on to, and would do nothing to help keep me afloat.

I prayed.  Instead of some intervention, or some rescue, what I received was a deep peace.  I was going to die.  And that was OK.  I relaxed a bit and thought about the family.  I have life insurance, not enough for them to be rich, but enough to pay the bills.  Social Security will help with raising my girls.  It will be tight, I thought, but they will survive.  I gave in to hypothermia, and waited to die, watching Dan reach shore and collapse on the rocky beach.  "Let him live" I prayed.

I was still alive.  I was growing bored of waiting to die.  I knew my brain was not working right, because I kept looking at my fingers and was disappointed that they were paper-white instead of blue.  I began fumbling with the bib, trying to remember how it came off.  I found the zipper, and slid my shoulders out from the suspender straps.  It fell off my shoeless leg easily, but got hung up on the remaining boot.

I rolled the life jacket up and wedged it under my arm pits and across my chest.  Water was still splashing over my with every wave, but I could feel the wave coming at my feet, and hold my breath.  I kicked towards shore.

Somewhere in the last 50 yards the bib fell off over my boot.

Eventually I made it to shore, and was able to walk up, with the rocky beach cutting my right foot through my sock.  I had on a sweatshirt, my underwear, two socks, and my left boot.  I stood there, realizing that the air was even colder than the water.  I could hear Dan talking to someone.  "Is George still in the water?" a female voice asked.  "Yes, send help!" Dan said.  He had used his "OnStar".

I walked up the boat ramp.  I realized that I could not feel my feet, which made it much easier to walk on the rocks.  Dan's truck was running.  A guy I had never seen before put me in the passenger seat, and took off my boot and socks, then gave me a hat and tossed a jacket over me.  Dan pulled off my sweatshirt.  It was 12:45.

I had been in the water 30 minutes.  Dan had probably been in 20.  We were both freezing cold.  The Department of natural resources did arrive - 30 minutes after I was out of the water, when feeling was returning to my fingers, and my breathing had slowed almost to normal.  The ambulance showed up 15 minutes after that.  They examined us, suggested we go to the Emergency room, and made us sign papers stating that we were refusing to go to the ER.  We could see some of our gear floating in the lake, heading to the far end of the inlet.

Around 2:00, after the DNR and ambulance people left, Dan walked along the beach and collected what gear he could find.  My backpack was there, having floated 500 yards or more.  His backpack was not there, but his jacket was.

We both came home alive, and that made it a good day.

In the end, we lost some things:

Me - Wallet with $300 or so in cash, and the time to cancel all my cards, get a new LCH, Drivers license, etc.  A Mossberg 500 shotgun with slug barrel - $400.  My cell phone.  My keys.  8 slugs.  My glasses - $300.  Probably $1000 worth of stuff.

Dan - Mussleloader with Scope - $700.  The redfield scope on my Mossberg - $250.  His backpack and all his gear - another $100 or $200.  And the Canoe - $600.

All in all, more than $2500 at the bottom of Patoka lake.

But coming home with the same number as we left with - priceless.