Hazzard Knytes

  There is a thing that get's under me every once in a while. When I hear the echos of the killdeer's outside, I think back to those days in Hazzard. Out at our very rural home, long before Internet, and all that, no cable TV, although we tried to get the dumcauff's to stretch a wire from town out there. But I remember walking down to the mailbox, about half a quarter mile to the main road. I'd get about halfway and sit on this old main branch of a Russian Olive tree that had been torched by lightning years ago. I'd sit there with the squirrels, the two bobcats, and yes the killdeers who tended their nests close to that tree branch. The dripping of that overhang of that tree, and such it was indeed peaceful. No matter what was going on with the club, which was founded there in Hazzard in 1982, still, I sat there and drift off, take a euphorian trip to never-never-forever land, and enjoy it. This is what kountry living is all about. It's what I use still as a dru