I’m gonna raise a fuss,
I’m gonna raise a holler
About a workin’ all summer
just to try to earn a dollar …
Every time I call my baby,
and try to get a date
My boss says,
‘No dice son, you gotta work late’ …
Sometimes I wonder
what I’m a gonna do
But there ain’t no cure
for the summertime blues.

Thousands of tired, nerve-shaken, over-civilized people are beginning to find out going to the mountains is going home; that wilderness is a necessity.
–John Muir


“Count these records,” said Charlie after introductions.
    The year was 1969. The records were five-inch vinyl-printed cardboard squares recorded by our candidate in the Northern Virginia district where I lived with my parents. The square records would be dropped off at every house to deliver his campaign message.
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Punxsutawney Phil has prognosticated an early spring, but it doesn’t feel like spring in Chesapeake Country. Like many a cold-hating human, Bay Weekly’s movie-loving groundhog Chesapeake Chuck remains hiding in his burrow.
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