His name is Leroy and he is the king. Through guts and hard work he has helped make America the country it is today (the good bits, not the crime and greed etc). He is still at it now, in his dairy with his beloved cows, and he’s approaching eighty. He had a large family and they were brought up to love the Lord, each other and their country. We were privileged to meet many of them on top of Maust Mountain where they have been working together to build a log cabin in their forest clearing. It was like feeding the five thousand with loaves, fishes and a hog roast. First was the hay ride. They know how to enjoy themselves, those Mausts. No, it was good fun, once you had scrambled over the ten foot high trailer sides. I can picture Mom Chris now ……..nuf said. We bounced our way through the forest breathing in lungfuls of fresh mountain air and tractor exhaust. To the viewpoint in the National Park where we climbed the tower. There were trees as far as the eye could see in every direction. Mom Chris was but a speck on the ground below. One of the boys leaned over the rail. I thought he was going to spit. A bit of target practice, eh? But no. Little rascal.

Duane can sure roast a hog. Succulent was not the word. Supersucculent was. Obviously, the hog was killed whilst eating an apple as he still had it in his mouth. I can even now taste the moist meat and the crunchy crackling. No, it isn’t indigestion.

We sang songs, praised the Lord, looked up at the stars and basked in the warmth and security of our family and friends around us. Paps gave me a cap with his beloved cow, Ardel on it (not literally). It is a treasured reminder of a wonderful evening on Maust Mountain. Goodnight John-boy.

We were, in fact, in Amish territory. We had crossed the time warp barrier and had been transported back hundreds of years. The village shop only opens on request. The shopkeeper had just stepped out of a Dicken’s novel, “Hard Times” by the look of it. It was real quaint. The shop was old, the dust was old, the food was old – about 2 years past it’s sell by date judging by the puffed corn snacks I bought.

If only we could travel by horse and buggy instead of noisy, smelly cars. And the roses would grow better, too. Ahh, the simple life. It would suit us. We’re very simple.

We felt like pioneers, taming the virgin forests of the New World. We had our log cabin near Cooper’s Rock. It was called Bobcat. Cute. A mountain stream trickled nearby. If you listened very carefully you could hear the distant drums of an indian village miles away. Out of the corner of your eye you saw a flash of movement. Was it an Apache brave stalking a deer? Of course not, silly. It was probably a Shawnee.

We were in the middle of nowhere, miles away from civilisation. Well, about 500 yards, really. But, there was no TV reception, so it seemed as though we were in Downtown Wildsville. Always take a DVD player on holiday with you (and DVDs, of course). Why take the risk of not being able to watch your favourite TV programmes?

The cabin had a hot tub. The hot tub. Oh, the hot tub. What can I say about the hot tub? Aaaahhh, happy memories. Wow. Wowee. All those bubbles.

Those early pioneers had hard lives clearing all those trees and fighting off those injuns. But they don’t mention how they got home at night and soaked in their hot tub watching ER on the DVD machine, do they?