From the Campground

Now the story of how I got here. David & I were looking for retirement property in Tennessee. At the time that we made that decision, we were living outside Cincinnati, Ohio. Although we are both originally from different parts of upstate New York, our blood was thinning out and I was sick of measurable snow. Age (and a return to sanity) does that to you. We had both spent time in various parts of the country prior to him being lucky enough to meet me. Ok, the reverse is true too.

We spent a few years exploring various areas of Tennessee and fell in love with Dale Hollow Lake. David found a site on the internet that had two adjacent, defunct businesses. One RV Park and one Trout farm. We were in the neighborhood one weekend and decided to check it out. The property itself caught our interest. There were acres and acres of trees and a series of waterfalls starting on the mountain’s side that cascaded 300 feet down to the creek below.

The businesses had been closed for years and looked it. We bought it with a sense of imagination and some insanity thrown in for good measure.

David had retired and wanted to give self-employment a shot. So we bought the place. I was game. Who wouldn’t want to escape the daily bumper to bumper I-70 commute? Fresh air, make your own schedule, no blankity-blank boss, jeans & sneakers every day. Sounded great.

On to Plan B. We took an additional year of working every day to make the place presentable.

Sure, it was good for an old body to get physical. Unfortunately, those fitness guru’s who recommend activity never tell you the part about hurting so much at the end of the day that movement of any sort is a challenge.