We passed a house on a county road in Ohio where several trailers were set up like billboards. The family living there is enraged at their neighbors and Judge Ward because of human waste being dumped in their freshwater pond, and the inaction of the county judiciary in regards to said dumping. . . Three trailers with their broadsides covered in angry lettering, detailing the grievances, and this artistic capstone:


Even without seeing the proof I am inclined to believe that they are in the right and that Judge Ward should indeed go to hell but ah, we are merely passing travellers.

Yay. This is the fellow who fed us our dinner on Day 4 of the trip. He is the owner and curator of Etta's Lunchbox Cafe in New Plymouth, Ohio. This is an exceptionally friendly person with a heavily canonized narrative version of his autobiography. I suspect that if you go there, you will hear many of the exact sentences that we heard. We liked him. I played his dulcimer. The food was tasty and the jalepenos were grown in his garden.

He has goats, llamas, a donkey, and chickens in the yard. Dogs and cats. . . He also had a lot of art back there that he had done... all of which was extremely weird and creepy considering his demeanor in person. I asked him if that was what he saw... he replied that it was what he experienced, and that without an outlet for the dark impulses lurking inside of him, well, who knows.

Allison took this picture of his llamas, and it came out looking exactly like one of the pencil drawings on the shelf in the museum, minus the ghostly undead image of Jim standing behind the llama on the left.

Our blood ran cold.