Do Not Spit...

Do Not Spit…

Some things just need no explanation. When we were in South Georgia last week quail hunting (see post here), we stopped at a convenience store for a cup of coffee. This sign was posted above the waste basket. A simple and direct request, followed by “Please.” Very genteel. Now you don’t […]

Some things just need no explanation. When we were in South Georgia last week quail hunting (see post here), we stopped at a convenience store for a cup of coffee. This sign was posted above the waste basket. A simple and direct request, followed by “Please.” Very genteel.

Do Not Spit
...

Now you don’t often see signs like this on Madison Avenue or Rodeo Drive. And it does my heart good to be reminded that they, and the people who write them, and Lord willing the people who obey them, exist. That, and it saves us from having to see wastebaskets with tobacco juice spit in them, for which I am grateful.

Coming up: a glimpse inside the wonderful old house at Foshalee Plantation where we stayed, and an old family recipe for venison…

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