Blossom Beacon LbNA # 46555
|Placed Date||Apr 12 2009|
|Last Found||Jan 2 2011|
At the parking lot, the visitor noticed with a combination of bemusement and wariness a pickup truck advertising expertise in searching for paranormal activity. The visitor put no stock in such things, but knew that those looking for the unusual, unexplained, and unaccepted had a way of stumbling onto things they had not anticipated and causing problems.
For a similar reason, he had avoided the well advertised landing spots, knowing that he would be watched in those well-trafficked areas. There was one prominent hill, which, apart from some well-meaning but clueless interlopers, seemed to have eluded the charts. However, as he passed near the summit, he saw that his suspicions appeared to be wrong. A little learning was a dangerous thing, as with those who had drawn the wrong conclusions from the long count calendars. “Curious,” he whispered to himself and continued on.
As he headed downhill, he noted the diabase concentration increasing and briefly considered setting up camp here at the impressive spot. Wanting to avoid the fate that had befallen those stationed at the last outpost, he resisted the temptation, turning right and heading south. Almost immediately, the local botany became more conducive for the camouflage he had chosen for his communications equipment. May Apples and wildflowers, then mountain laurel, and finally, after a few switchbacks, swamp cabbage.
The path he was following ended at another trail. He chose to head slightly uphill to the right just as the tune running through his head took on a more strongly bluesy tone. “I guess some people have different ideas as to what keeping a low profile means,” he muttered, knowing that Shemekia was not the only one who would be unable to return to Memphis. But that was another story for another time, and those wounds were at last beginning to heal. As this trail leveled out slightly on its terrace, he glanced to the left downhill to see the mother lode, what seemed like acres of swamp cabbage. Conditions here would be much better than expected for his listening post. Remembering his friends back home, the so-called “Salad Neck Brothers,” he spied the broken Y transmitted up the hill to the right. This would be an adequate spot for his communications equipment.