the-mango-vol-1-issue-6

A

s mentioned in my last letter here, I looked for water to cross on the 2-hour battlefield trail ride at Gettysburg National Military Park. There were two gulches about two inches wide, so it was more of a step-across than walk-through trickle of water. Hickory Hollow Farm has the greatest horses and the best wranglers, and the most knowledgeable battlefield guide rides along as you wear a receiver and ear piece to hear his comprehensive presentation. The shops downtown in Gettysburg are some of the best gift shops for very nice, unusual merchandise (and I’ve been to a lot of gift shops!). Do not miss the Gettysburg National Military Park Museum and Visitor Center for its movie, cyclorama and museum. My final sales pitch for Gettysburg is stay at Baladerry Inn for cleanliness, excellence, quiet, affordable and convenient to everything. On the beach front, Jo Clark’s comprehensive article on Aruba makes me want to pack a bag and book a flight. Thanks, Jo. I have a standing invitation to a friend’s home in Jamaica. Thanks, Kevin. And my fantastic sod farmer sister-in-law, Mary, escapes Minnesota winters in Corpus Christi, not far at all from Port Aransas, profiled herein by new-to-Mango writer Cindy Muir. Welcome aboard, Cindy. This first full year of The Mango has been an eye-opening experience for this simple country girl from

Vermont, the only land-locked New England state. This is not to say I had not heard of trop rock and reggae or sat under palm trees, gotten pulled in and tossed about by an ocean undertow and gathered sea shells on Sanibel Island. I was, however, fairly uneducated in the particulars of musical instruments and the music that seriously can transport someone to a tropical clime. I took it with a grain of salt, but no more. The beat, the rhythm, the uke and steel drums, congas, marimbas and vibraphones with acoustic guitars and singer-songwriters who have the gifts of storytelling and carrying a tune really can take me away. You can bet when the snow flies on my small farm, I’ll heat up the tea kettle, maybe on top of my all- new, not-yet-used pellet stove, close my eyes and blast a little trop rock. I’ll find some sand, some sun, some water and a palm tree and park my mind for a little while. When I open my eyes to winter ’s reality, well, I’ll put my feet into some very fine Muck® Boots and bundle up for hauling out hay or filling a winterized [aka heated] water tank. And I will be happy because … [drum roll] … I like winter. Ask me exactly how much I like winter around the middle of March. I am writing this on a beautiful, blue sky, sunny, crispy, fall afternoon with two more months of trail riding, pumpkins, scarecrows, mums and all the charm of autumn.

Joanne M. Anderson

7

m a n g o - m a g . c o m

N o v / D e c 2 0 2 1