So (my favorite word to start a post) here's a blog about stories I lived, stories I heard, and maybe some history from Lawson's Landing, a campground and RV park that was started by my family in 1956. Who would care about such a thing? Mostly nobody, but a lot of the stories I heard and the things I witnessed stick with me, and they might stick with someone else, so why not share? Also, it was a special place, a mix of transient and non-transient people. There were, at one time or another, about 200 "permanent" trailers there year-round, mostly weekend homes for people from the Sacramento Valley. "Permanent" is in quotes because that's what we called them as they stayed year-round, but they aren't there now, so not permanent. There was also another 150+ acres for camping and while most people would come in for a weekend a few would stay for months at a time over the summer. The "monthlys" were as regular as the "permanents". It was a community of transients, and it was awesome. Even in its final days, I could turn my boys loose in the park and get almost immediate feedback from folks telling me where they were and what they were doing. The boys thought their mom had special powers as she always knew where they were and what they had been doing. That's some small town stuff. Rando people you don't even know show up and say they're telling your mom on you. Distributed parenting works. 

   So, having said that these are Lawson's Landing stories, let me start with a story from Bodega Bay. We have a lot in common, as we share a bay, and there was a time when there was a thriving commercial fishery here as well as in Bodega. Times change.. But here's a story I heard a few years ago about a guy we'll call TF. F was not his actual last initial, at least not to my knowledge. He just loved to use the F-word on the radio (and in person, but the radio went farther) much like my own brother, who uses the F-bomb in any way possible, noun, verb, adjective (mostly), adverb, conjunction... My brother moved to Florida and we don't talk a lot, so hearing TF on the VHF was sorta like visiting my brother. Never met him. I like him. But apparently his brother ran afoul of the CDFW in a way I never heard. But TF and his brother were drinking together one evening and the brother told TF that he had found out where the local CDFW warden lived and he was going to go over to that person's house and shoot some people. So TF beat his brother up. I haven't checked the flow chart of what you're supposed to do, but that's an option and not the worst one. Good beating, I heard. TF went home. Later that evening, his brother arrived at TF's house, announcing that he was going to kill TF. TF shot him through the door. As. You. Would. Never let someone yelling homicide into your home. Basic rule. Brother took one in the leg and lived. TF gets treated pretty well by the local CDFW warden. Preferential treatment? Even if it is, it's earned, and I have no beef. Sometimes we make bad decisions and we need people to correct us. I'm hoping that can be done for me without the whupping and shooting, but who knows? My wife says my head is pretty hard...