Rednecks exist everywhere and they must have their beer! Oh, wait - that must be me because I am eagerly awaiting a case of the stuff. Miller Lite from Oklahoma. Is it special? Why, yes it is. It's 3.2% volume alcohol by content. Beer in Texas (like most other states) is 6%. What does that mean? Well, it means you can have twice as many (not that I do).

There are few things I miss, being in Texas, but having 3.2 beer is one of them. And when we moved from Boston to Tulsa some years back (and one step closer to Texas roots), I was thrilled to no end for this indulgence. It's actually a weekend treat - for afternoons. We won't talk about weekdays here. Thanks to Miller, their Lite version is low in carbs and (yes) it tastes great. I can tell the difference in taste from 6% Lite and there you have it.

Of course, my husband (Mr. Realist) calls it half the beer for twice the money. Nonetheless, he made the 4-hour round trip trek to the border pre-Christmas year before last for a carton of it. Wrapped it up, put it under the tree, and told me not to shake it. What a wonderful man he is.

So, now my husband is visiting a dear friend in Tulsa this week. You can see why I am all for that. I'll be here working while he enjoys $100+ pre-embargo cigars, Crown Royal, and food you can't get in these here parts.

But by Thursday, I'll have some Okie beer for the weekend.

What is this world coming to? Truck bans in Texas? Texas IS trucks!

We do appreciate having covenants in place; oh, yes, we do. That's what drew us to this particular little spot on the lake. Rules are in place for those who may get a little wayward in how things look. This is not a snobbish thing around these parts, with the exception of no allowances for 18-wheeler cabs, but that's a whole 'nuther story. Here, as in many rural (and some not so rural) areas, piled up stuff can become an issue.

However, in some cases, folks who put together the covenants can go to extremes with their highfalutin' ways. A homeowners group just down the road in Frisco is making the news about which trucks can park in individual owners' driveways. They're not talking about "old" trucks, or those with loud pipes or in bright purple. They are banning new trucks - but only certain models - Ford in particular. If you happen to own a brand new Lincoln or Escalade (to name two), you're still in good graces.

The reasoning? The "type" of people who buy Fords aren't up there in style or class with folks who buy other models. Parting a Texan with his new truck is sure askin' for trouble. Even worse, imagine having to slink around the neighborhood in a lowly $30,000 brand-spanking new black truck.

We joke with a handful of neighbors that some of us do have certain burdens to bear. These are in the form of "other" neighbors - those that reside next door to each of us. While we have rules in place to prevent certain things, a few oversights seem to slip right by.

Our "hell" is in the form of a blue swimming pool. It's the rubberized above-ground version that you see in back yards through the summer months. This one is a permanent resident. In fact, this is a second generation, larger version. The first one didn't come down in the fall; the pump died, scum and other nasties set in, and the rest was history. At some point, the actual owners (relatives of the residents) decided they wanted to take a swim. The volunteer cleanup crew gave up quickly, so "Sis" bought a new one.

Here it sits, within view of my studio window. As summer waned - the year before last - the pump died and it remained in the open through the winter. Summer came again with no pump and a pool full of tepid water. Yes, I must show a picture of it, so you can enjoy our view - our burden. That is not an air mattress you see floating on the water - that is some sort of blossoming growth that is especially enjoyable. We won't discuss the surrounding vegetation here.

Perhaps someone will want to go swimming one of these days and they can start this process once again.

When you live in small pockets of homes out in the country, it's good to have rules. We have a homeowners association and covenants that cover things that most people do, anyway. However, there are always a few folks who don't think it's necessary to mow - ever - or they tend to hoard. Hoarders seem to be more abundant in remote areas. Just drive down any road and you'll see massive collections of stuff piled on porches, in the yards and spilling out of carports or garages.

We have trash pickup once a week and our single container is pretty roomy, although we panicked at first about going a whole week. They're big plastic things on wheels. Sometimes, though, these containers don't seem to be enough, especially if someone has trash they don't particularly want to dump. So, when the porch is full and the back yard is packed, there's only one last frontier - the golf cart. Yes, stack 'em high and wait for the Covenants Police to smack you down (more on that to come).

If you don't have one or two of those neighbors in the area, you just ain't living.

We'd been looking forward to our little adventure - visiting the Los Pinos Winery located in the backwoods of East Texas. Their web site promised us a huge welcome from the owners and that we'd surely "feel like family" once we arrived. We do have a fondness for wines and enjoy experimenting with different types and brands (although we have our favorites). We had the perfect excuse to go - a dear friend was visiting; one who is quite an adventurous aficionado of all things alcoholic and flavorful.

The drive was as expected; when we turned in, sun was shining brightly down on rows of vines. A pleasant view. The covered veranda was a pure delight - shady with a breeze and overlooking the vineyard. OK, so it's a flat lot with vines on it.

We went inside and received a rather blank look (as if to say, do I know you?) from the hostess. We asked about the wine list and were informed that information was available at each table. So, we traipsed outdoors and took our seats. One other group was there - and had been for quite some time - a very good sign, we thought.

Our first request was for a flight of wines for tasting. Oddly, they were split between drys and sweets, rather than whites and reds. Not to matter, I suppose, as the odor (the "nose" in wine-speak) of each was quite telling. I'll detail that in another place.

Later, the owner came out to visit - with the group at the far end of the veranda. Indeed, he was holding a glass of red in his hand, but never appeared to drink it. We're pretty sure we know why. As he escorted a woman down the aisle, there was never a friendly bit of eye contact or greeting toward the other three tables of guests that had arrived in the meantime. Perhaps this was not "family" day. (Or maybe he had seen our faces contort earlier as we worked our way through the tastings.)

Come to find out, Texas is fifth in wine production throughout the US. Quite interesting. We also are finding a host of other wineries that might be fun to visit.

However, at this point I cannot recommend any of the wines in our tasting test. Maybe as Los Pinos releases newer batches of wines, we'll brave another trip at some point. The food was simply outstanding and it would be nice to enjoy everything on their tapas menu - but we would require a good wine to go with it.

P.S. Because we did want to explore their menu, we were left with choosing a chardonnay. The only one in the tasting flight that appealed to us was a Meritage - a decent taste - but sold out until December (hint, hint). Their Rose the Riveter has won awards, but the bouquet was not for us. Our chard was do-able with food, but not enough to order a second bottle. Please note, we were not invited to make a review, but are expressing personal opinions only.

We do have the advantage when it comes to getting outside contractors at a reasonable price. That's because my husband is "from around here." Other folks in our little middle-of-nowhere addition aren't so lucky. They have to pay the "lake people" price.

Of course, my husband never mentions that the "from around here" part was from way back. Most of his life has been as a "city boy." Some big cities; some smaller. Of course, some people who've lived here all their lives define the "big city" as a population of around 50,000. We're thinking more in the upper 6 figures and well into 7, when you include our past lives in Sydney, Boston, and San Francisco. So, we now enjoy heading to the "big cities" of Longview or Tyler or Texarkana whenever we get the chance. (woo hoo - seriously)

But that was just a bit off-subject. What we tell the occasional noobs moving in from some "big city" is there's still a trick to actually get people to tone down the pricing part.

You simply say you "live out in the country."

Not at the lake. That gets contractors all in a froth to overcharge. One - they don't like lake people (those snooty ex-city folks). Second - there's this concept of mansions and three-bedroom boathouses (that's the lake over from ours).

So, once they arrive and actually see it really is "out in the country," they'll all softened up to be somewhat reasonable. That's still not quite as good as being "from around here."

Our zealous homeowners board members have decided it's time to put thieves on alert. So, these itsy, bitsy, teeny, tiny signs have been installed. They're in all the places a future burglar will be apt to stop and have a look.

They do become readable when you're about three feet away - and on foot. I do think a thief will have other things on his/her mind - as in scoping the neighborhood - than stopping to see this special message.

P.S. Post installation, neighbors did experience a theft (the first) in our little lake community. A drive-by snagged a bike and a fancy satellite radio (plus the antenna, which was snapped off). Must have been too dark to read the sign. Our trusty local sheriff's department went to work and recaptured the goods; they got the rustlers, too!

I'm sure these signs are scaring everyone else off, don't you think?

Our new boat. Now, here's another magnet for attracting friends and family. It actually started with a Bass Pro Christmas gift card for my bro-in-law. As a thank you, Bass Pro sent us their fishing catalog. The catalog became conjoined to my husband's hands for weeks. By late spring, those famous little words came up:

"We're not getting any younger."

That's sweet talk for "We need a boat."

You see, Bass Pro has pages of Tracker boats in their catalog. Nice.

Of course, the perfect one was sitting among the fine print in all its beauty. It's a Fishin' barge dressed up as a party pontoon. Live wells (for the fish - yes, I'm learning about that) fore and aft (that's front and back for us lubbers). Seats from which to comfortably cast in the aforementioned spots. On the party side, there are drink holders everywhere, plus a sofa, a table, and a cubby for the cooler. Even better, it will hold 13 people - although I'm not sure where all of them would actually sit - or have room to mingle with martinis in hand.

This particular boat also has a "changing room." We're not sure why it's called that. How many wardrobe changes do you take on board when you're fishing? It's really a "chamber" area. That translates to a private space for a port-a-potty. The top lifts and a drape drops down for (almost) full enclosure. Really nice. As we've found out, most folks just use a coffee can around here. Now we're upscale, see?

The guys are most impressed, however, with one little nicety: the SINK. Yes, folks, this fishing/party barge has a real sink with a faucet and everything. Now you can wash your hands on board after you visit the "changing room," handle the freshly-caught fish, and before you serve "martinis to 13 people."

This is the same boat we have not had any martinis on, yet - and certainly have failed miserably at catching any fish. We're working on both.

Meet Yachtzy.

Oh, those cool fall mornings, peace and quiet in the wee hours; slammin' the snooze button just one more time. That's about to end - duck season is biting at our heels. In our little slice of middle-of-nowhere heaven, the shotgun blasts begin early.  Way before it's even possible to see ducks, much less take aim and let 'er rip. Do these people have super powers? Night vision goggles? Each fall, those nearby boom-boom-booms have taken the place of our forsaken city noises such as the almost constant pitch of sirens and cars racing by.

I don't know anything about bag limits; we just enjoy seeing the occasional smarter ones take refuge in our part of the lake - it's our channel, cove, whatever you want to call it. The mouth of the lake opens up just two houses over. Of course, we have to get out the trusty bird book to identify (and in some cases mis-identify) the ducks that arrive.

It's not unusual to see all those folks in camo at gas stations, running quick errands (when we do go into town). And, no, they're not on a military mission - they're just duck hunters. Some bubbas; some not-so bubbas.

So, with that little vision, I'll leave you with the latest and greatest in bumper stickers (as seen in the back window of a pickup:

Hooked on Quack

Actually, we're still here - smack dab in the middle of nowhere. You know, as a freelancer, sometimes there's so much writing to be done, there's no time left for, well, writing.

Of course, in the meantime, all those quirky and downright odd things that happen in small towns and out in the boondocks continue. Can't let all those oddities and abnormalities go to waste, can we? So hang around and let's carry on!