Chapter 2 of Norma's Handmade Banana Bar

Camping with Andre - June 24

Braley Pond, Virginia
This popular fishing spot in George Washington National Forest,
60 miles from Charlottesville, is the site of Virginia’s most haunted campground.

One night, you are Andre are exchanging stories around the campfire.
What happens?

After Andre and I left Washington state, we hit the road and headed back east. I got the lead on a job writing for some travel blog. My first assignment is a report on Braley Pond in Virginia.

Days went by as we traveled toward Virginia. Andre behaved reasonably well. I did get a few stares at some campgrounds and a few didn’t let us in claiming he was an oversize pet. But when we did get into campgrounds, the children gravitated to him. He is just a big kid at heart. Playgrounds are his favorite place. They don’t call those ‘monkey bars’ for nothing. And I’m not talking about the Banana Bar.

About twenty-three hours from Montana, we finally got to the destination in Virginia. Seems Braley Pond was dredged in 1889. It’s advertised to be full of fish. Not much of a place, really. Only 4.5 acres with primitive camping and remote forest all around.

We park to find no one around. Not a car in sight.

“Looks like we have the place to ourselves,” I state. “Help me get our gear out, Andre. We’ll get set up and then go fishing for supper.”

Our camp is ready in short order, Andre has been quite cooperative lately. Makes me wonder why, but I’m glad for his help.

As the sun gets lower, we set off to catch dinner. Standing by the pond, I get the poles ready with line and lures. Andre wants to fish with me.

“Okay, but remember, the hooks are sharp. Keep the hooks away from you.”

I show him how the hook and the lures, how to cast the line.

“Asnfd hosdfz?”

“Exactly. You throw it into the water, the fish bite the hook, then you turn this handle to wind your line and pull it in.”

“Noosd! Kospdf!”

“But that is what we’re eating for supper. Fish. We have to catch the fish, then kill them, then cook them.”

Andre sat and thought about this for an hour or so.

I changed lures a few times, Changed locations a few times. Finally I caught a wonderful rainbow trout, large enough for dinner.

I reeled it in, removed the hook, laid it on a rock. As I searched for my knife, Andre wandered over to watch. The trout’s gills flared back and forth, searching for air.

Quick as anything, Andre grabbed that trout, threw it back into the pond.

“What the…Andre! That was dinner! You rotten little monkey. I should throw you back!”

Andre screeched at me, jumped up and down.

“Now what are we going to eat, huh? Oh, never mind, you’re hopeless! Let’s go to the tent. It’s getting dark, no more fishing,” I grabbed his furry hand, dragged him and the fishing gear back to camp.

I started a campfire at the campsite. Andre went rummaging in the car. He soon reappeared with two cans of spaghetti-os.

“Where were those hiding?”

“Ksdfjk assdfj.” Then he pointed to the trunk.

“The trunk? How’d you get into the trunk through the back seat?”

He shrugged, ran off into the woods.

“You are a bad monkey! If you did something to my car, you’re really in trouble!” I yelled to the woods.

I started to the car when out of the woods streaks Andre, screeching and screaming, headed my way.
He jumped into my arms, shivering and shaking.

“What’s wrong?”

Andre grabbed me tighter.

“Let’s sit by the fire. It’s alright. I’ll fix something to eat and you’ll feel better,” I told the shivering monkey as we walked to the campfire.

Soon we sat by the fire with cans of spaghetti-os roasting on the coals. We watched the labels burn off, then when the food inside boiled, it was time to eat.

Suddenly little O - O - O - O shapes starting floating in front of us. Then ‘OOOOh’ and ‘Ahhhhh’ sounds came from the forest around us.

Andre looked me, his eyes twice their size, I looked back, my eyes also the size of saucers.

I stood up, Andre jumped into my arms.

O - O - O - O- O- O - O - O - O - O - O - O - O - O - O - O - O

The O’s were all around us. Floating spaghetti rings all in the air. The O’s floated in the hot air of the fire, rose into the sky, more joined and soon there was a line of O’s up into the black sky. More O’s joined into a ring around the fire perimeter. Some fell on me, some fell on Andre. And those sounds from the forest!

Well, we didn’t hang around to see who was making those sounds. I broke camp lickety-split, threw some water on the fire, threw some dirt on the fire, and still the O’s rose into the air.

“Let’s get the be-jesus out of here Andre! This place is haunted!”

Spitting gravel and dirt we raced down the road and back to the highway.

The O’s trailed us for a few miles, just until we found a diner where we could stop for dinner. The waitress gave Andre the stink-eye, but still served us the special, spaghetti with garlic bread.


W/C 863