Rondy Voo

By Peggy Johnson

UP IN THE MOUNTAINS, it’s easy to get lost in time. Everywhere, there’s rocks with green-blue lichen on them, and trees so tall that it hurts your neck to see the tops. Except for the cars and trucks parked beyond the trees, you could easily believe that you were actually in the late seventeen hundreds.
Tipi's and miners’ tents dot the hillside. Pack mules laden with goods move laboriously up through mountain creeks. There’s the sweet smell of cedar and pinion pine burning as evening campfires are being lit in the chill Rocky Mountain air. Grubby looking men dressed in buckskin move silently among the trees.
Even though its mid-July, there’s a hint of frost in the air, crisp and clean. The songs of birds mingle with the laughter of children dressed in broadcloth and calico. Carefree, they play in the cold stream’s shallows. The smell of fresh tanned leather permeates the air. Indian bread and coffee roasted over an open flame takes you to another time,
Rondy-voo

• Language: English
• Publisher: Peggy Johnson
• Release date: Mar 4, 2013
• ISBN: 9781301568109

Peggy Johnson

I've been writing/storytelling as long as I can remember, they tell me I spin a fun yarn. If I can make you smile, think or laugh out loud, then, my day is complete. Enjoy my stories, ebook trailers. Come, play with me!

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Rondy Voo

By Peggy L. Johnson

Rondy Voo,

by Peggy L.Johnson

Smashwords edition copyright 2013

RENDEZVOUS

UP IN THE MOUNTAINS, it’s easy to get lost in time. Everywhere, there’s rocks with green-blue lichen on them, and trees so tall that it hurts your neck to see the tops. Except for the cars and trucks parked beyond the trees, you could easily believe that you were actually in the late seventeen hundreds.

Tipi's and miners’ tents dot the hillside. Pack mules laden with goods move laboriously up through mountain creeks. There’s the sweet smell of cedar and pinion pine burning as evening campfires are being lit in the chill Rocky Mountain air. Grubby looking men dressed in buckskin move silently among the trees.

Even though its mid-July, there’s a hint of frost in the air, crisp and clean. The songs of birds mingle with the laughter of children dressed in broadcloth and calico. Carefree, they play in the cold stream’s shallows. The smell of fresh tanned leather permeates the air. Indian bread and coffee roasted over an open flame takes you to another time,

Rondy-voo

Rondyvoo:

SOME PEOPLE GO FISHING on weekends and others go to the local golf course. Then there are those special breed of folks who like to time travel, so to speak. It starts out like so many other weekends have. You finish your nine to five job routine, fight the evening traffic and head home. The wife has packed everything and the kids are ready to go. For some people it’s a way to escape the everyday life; for others it is their life.

There are folks who make their living at these events. They sell goods that are made the old way. There’s no plastics allowed, so all their trade goods are called authentic reproductions. To the untrained eye, they could pass as real antiques. They call these people Traders. Over the years they have weathered many storms and laughed around many campfires together. They are in many ways like a large extended family.

Most of the overnight modern campers are set up on the other side of the small creek. They too enjoy the atmosphere of Rendezvous, but choose to be a bit more comfortable after enjoying a day of early Americana, by using their thoroughly modern camping equipment. When they are dressed out during the event though, they look exactly like anyone in primitive camp. Just beyond Traders’ Row are the family primitive camps. These camps are small and for all appearances are museum quality replications of life in the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries. Children are everywhere. As their parents busily set up their camps, the kids have the wonderful jobs of gathering firewood, hauling water and just plain having fun! Now we adults might call it work, but the kids make it a game, an adventure.

On Thursday evening the clearing seems full of cars and trucks of all makes and models.

Quickly everyone busies them selves with unloading vehicles. Soon tents and people are everywhere. Just as quickly all the vehicles disappear beyond the tree line. Soon primitive camp looks so authentic that Lewis and Clark themselves would feel right at home here.

Across the clearing just beyond another line of trees is where Traders Row is. Every Rendezvous encampment is set up a little different, but you can be sure Traders Row is somewhere on the grounds.

There are usually two or three s set up at either end of Traders’ Row. These belong to black powder enthusiasts who feel like part of the Row. The same thing happens there; vehicles in unload quickly, vehicles out, and Voila! Primitive camp is now ready for inspection.

Most of the shooting competitions will start tomorrow. Tonight, the traders will just parlez around a big open fire and share a lie or two, and maybe a bottle of snake bite medicine.

There are a lot of things that happen at rendezvous, and most of the fun happens even before the weekend even starts. This is a story of just one weekend, a very strange weekend indeed.

Thursday;

By now most of the traders have set up and are ready to spend a few days relaxing before the actual competition shoots begin. So far, it had been an interesting few days. They get a few trades in among themselves, talk about past adventures and make new ones. This rendezvous was starting out like countless others had before. You can expect a bit of shenanigans, and this weekend was no exception.

By seven o’clock The Morning Forum was well underway at Two Smokes’ campfire. As a part time public school teacher, Smokes had figured out a long time a go that little children need to speak their minds to start their day out right, no matter what their ages. After filling their mugs with coffee, open discussion began.

The well-manicured Revolutionary War officer in the powdered wig and the spotless black and white uniform was a big young man who insisted that he be known as Inspector Farkle. Intent on impressing everyone present with his social climbing skills, he produced his badge of authority.

Taking courses in law enforcement at the local community college in the daytime, he did most of his studying at night while working as a watchman for a local security company, hence the badge. Farkle continued with his lecture.

I’ll try and not flaunt my skills while in camp this week end, but I do think there should be some kind of authority during these events. I am appalled at the public drunkenness’. Perhaps, knowing I am here, it will be a more moderate camp!

Being in one of those cruel moods that can suddenly develop when some nerd touches a sore spot, Tennessee laughed out loud at the big man, You have no idea how much you, Mr. Rev War Man resemble a fat queer pencil pusher.

He baited and verbally jabbed this want-to-be cop who, by the way was twice as big as his antagonist. On asking him of his career aspirations, Rev War Man proudly stated When my continuing education is finalized I am going into federal law enforcement, preferably ATF, with the goal of busting sour mash stills, preferably in that sad county of your residence, Tennessee the Strange. If everyone is as lewd and obnoxious as you are, there will be plenty of work for me.

Tennessee then confessed to those assembled, You all know my anarchistic social preferences, and I’m sure you all remember the sudden death that I myself, at the tender young age of ten years old had given that fat revenuer. The one I’m sure I told you about, that had tried to bust my pappy’s still.

He went on to described the sweet little thirty-two-caliber black powder squirrel rifle that he had used to plug the federal man right between the eyes. He watched Rev war man’s face, and laughed as he told of the surprised look on the officer’s face as he fell forward, dead before he hit the ground.

I remember going through the dead man’s pockets to get the keys to remove Pappy’s handcuffs. But you know, Pappy still gave the man a good Christian burial right there by the still, where we could easy splash a taste of future batches over his bones. Of which we still do today by the way, in memory of his foolhardy attempt to change our pure country ways.

Rev War Man’s face paled as the old anarchist continued. Why I think that for your first assignment, you should come on out to that old farm of ours, for a visit You know, cause fertilizer is way too expensive, and besides, dead lawmen is good for the ground. I don’t think that valley has bloomed that colorfully in a long long time. Why you’d be right as rain to come by.

They locked eyes as Tennessee continued his story. He really enjoyed telling the group assembled his far-fetched story.

Why you can be sure, that this very weekend, to the good pleasure of all the other anarchists in camp, I personally promise to be the instigator of some sort of gunplay. So you can take this to the bank, as fair warning Mr. Rev War Man that from hereafter you will be known merely as a Wannabee!

Two Smokes, knowing his old friend’s vicious sense of humor, and praying that little squirrel rifle wasn’t in camp, about choked on his coffee, contemplating the inevitable destruction of self confidence coming to the big one this weekend.

Rev War Man finished his coffee and dusted off his black trousers, I think that I have had enough of these insults! Why you people put up with this ruffian I shall never know! I don’t have to take this.

Without another word he stormed back to his own camp. Everyone grinned at Tennessee, who smiled back at the group. Well, what’s the matter with him? I just haven’t had enough caffeine in my bloodstream yet. That there Wannabe has no sense of humor. What a waste of an argument! I should have known better than to waste one on the likes of him.

Donna, Tennessee’s wife and keeper poured a little more coffee into his mug, shaking her head. You are a rotten person! You know darn well you never shot any revenuer. Now its gonna be all over camp that you have some guy buried out by your daddy’s place. Why, what are the neighbors going to say? You and me are gonna have to have us a little talk when we get home.

Now there are some things in life that a man fears, and having an angry wife is one of them.

Tennessee grinned at Donna and slapped her on the rear. You just don’t go worrying about it, my dear. You know I was just funnin’ with him. Don’t go getting so riled up!

Donna put her hands on her hips in a scolding fashion, You just wait till we get home!

Tennessee grinned up at her and winked. Donna winked back and turned to go back to their trade tent.

Tennessee looked around at the remaining people still at the camp fire. Don’t go worrying about her. I can handle her all right. She knows who wears the pants in this family alright.

He drank the remaining coffee from his mug and followed her to their camp. Everyone began to laugh softly, seeing the reaction of Tennessee to his wife Donna.

Two Smokes watched the morning forum broke up as people talking and laughing, headed towards their own lodges. The fire was beginning to die; only the coals glowed still holding what was left of the fire. He sat the big black pot on the iron pedestal Jamie had made for Jingles. He packed his pipe and leaned back in his chair. This was going to be an interesting rendezvous to be sure.

On Thursday night, the camp mascot was stolen, monkey-napped if you will!

Bushwhacker and Helen had their primitive clothing tent set up across from Root Beer Dale. Cigar smoking Dale’s calliope and stuffed monkey were a regular sight at these shoots, and usually a center of attraction on show days. Dale sold lots of root beer and folks had a ball watching his calliope and monkey skits. His impromptu shows sure could draw a crowd!

Root Beer Dale made quite a commotion and public display of his pretended contempt for the keeper of the peace at the shoot, the big Dog Soldier, the Highlander himself!

In the interest of keeping the peace, and shutting his awful commotion up, Ma and Pa Friendship swore out a camp warrant and duly authorized Highlander to form a monkey posse. Every tent was searched, one at a time. But nowhere in camp could the monkey be found!

They searched in the portable out houses and