Deltaville According to the Brat Child

So, I was having a brain fart about what I should blog about, so I did what every smart person would do-

 I asked the 8 year old. 

What should I write about Deltaville tonight?

His response:

Well, there used to be pirates around Deltaville.

There used to be a lot of beaches and islands.  

This one island went under water and never came back up.  

 It has couple of bridges too. 

You can ride boats there

and you can buy a lot of oysters and crabs 

but there aren't a lot of McDonald's.  

There really isn't.  

I think that's kinda weird.

So there you have it. 

The Great Rowboat Caper

Unknown family members in a rowboat

 My family has had a relationship with rowboats since the beginning of time.

As evidenced by the above photo.

Pepop in back, me standing and my cousin Ty in the front

 As a young kid, Pepop took us out rowing in his old rowboat we all affectionately called

The Rainbow Connection

(yes, we all loved the muppets).

When my cousin and I got older, 

my uncle purchased an old rowboat the neighbor had sitting on her property
for as long as I can remember.

We cleaned it up,

slapped on a dolphin decal on one side

and the name of the boat on the other:

Chessie

(so named for the Chesapeake By Monster)

Chessie to the left, Miss Patsy in the chair and Kelly in the front

 Chessie can be seen tied to the pier in the background

(that's my partner in crime cousin and my aunt in the background).

Anyway, we spent  a lot of time on that boat.

Once we went out on the River and watched a Menhaden boat haul in their catch.

We were gone so long that my grandmother and aunt sent Pepop out looking for us.

Luckily we were headed back in at that point.

We also spent time trying to tip the boat.

I remember standing in it rocking it violently back and forth.

It never tipped.

Never sank.

And even though it had a hole in the seam that we plugged with chewing gum,

it didn't really take on too much water.

Which brings me to the story I wanted to share about the weekend.

This weekend, I had the pleasure of taking the Brat Child to Scout Camp.

One of the Scout Camp activities is boating.

Scouts enjoying a relaxing row around Memory Lake

The Brat Child developed this irrational terror fear of boats.

Last year I all but dragged him on the boat.

This year he went sort of willingly, 

but only after I insisted you can't sink a rowboat.

"I've tried," I said.

"They don't sink," I said.

"Sinking a rowboat is impossible," I said.

He asked me what happens if in fact they do sink

(while we were in the middle of the lake)

I explained how the boat starts to take on water,

rolls over and floats upside down because of trapped air.

"You then just hang on to the boat and stay with it,

but rowboats don't sink," I said

 So the camp staff signaled for us to head back to shore.

Big E started rowing back, and at this point,
we began realizing that there was a lot more water in the boat
than there was when we left shore.

"Row faster," I said.

I kept looking at the back of the boat, now only half an inch above the water level.

Big E and I both knew we weren't going to make it back to shore.

I handed the Brat Child my camera (the water proof one) to hold and prepared to attempt to launch myself towards the front of the boat in hopes that would level things out before it was too late.

It didn't work.

The Brat Child began shrieking.

The unsinkable rowboat began sinking.

As it filled with water and rolled over, I calmly narrated

"See, this is what I said would happen. 
Okay, now it's rolling over, and now we hang onto the hull."

The Brat Child was still shrieking.

Also, he was trying to climb on top of my head. 

And he was yelling things like "This is the stupidest place ever! I'm never coming here again!"

Then we saw the staff start to row out to us.

The Brat Child said, "They are coming to rescue me! I'm getting into that boat and you can swim!"

Through all this, The Brat Child never dropped the camera.

The staff member was a little irritated 

because he thought we swamped the boat on purpose.

I explained The Brat Child's terror and told the guy the last person I needed to have this happen to was BC.

The guy took BC to shore and Big E and I swam the rowboat back to the dock.

swimming the boat to shore

 When I got to shore I explained to the staff that the boat was taking on water

and that it wasn't coming from splashing or coming over the sides.

Turns out the damn thing had a hole in it. 

So, that's my exciting weekend story about the rowboat that sank.

I laughed through the whole thing. 

The Brat Child not so much.

(but none of us got our hair wet and the PFDs did their job)

Jamestown: The Starving Time

The Starving Time at Jamestown during the winter of 1609-10

beginning after the departure of Captain John Smith.

During that time, 

the people of Jamestown was forced to eat rats and snakes

because they could not venture outside of the fort's walls

for fear of being attacked by Powhatan's tribes.

There were written accounts 

that indicated the settlers had resorted to cannibalism

but no concrete evidence had ever been found.

Until Jane.

Jane was a 14 year old girl
who died during the Starving Time.
Above is a rendering of her likeness based on her skull.

Also based on her skull

(a copy seen above)

were the indications of tool marks

(in red)

which proved that 

those at Jamestown

had no choice but to cannibalize 

the dead to survive.

During a trip to the Smithsonian,

I showed the Brat Child the exhibit

and explained it all.

Later that summer while vacationing, 

I asked the Brat Child if he would like to go to Jamestown.

His reply:

"Do they still EAT people??!"

Great Mother's Teeth

After my grandmother passed away, 

my dad and his siblings found a box she had in her dresser

marked "sharks teeth".

Inside were several old teeth.

My dad thought it was something the Brat Child would like to have 

to remember his "Great Mother" by.

We were all a little perplexed

over why in the world she would have a box of shark teeth 

in her jewelry box.

After reading up on all the fossil teeth in the area of the Rappahannock

and seeing the condition of the teeth (they look pretty old and beat up),

I'm fairly certain they're teeth she and my grandfather found.

The Brat Child, 

well, he thinks it would be cool to pull out his own teeth and replace them with these.

Wordy Wednesday

It's nuts trying to maintain 4 blogs 

and prepare for a week's vacation. 

That doesn't mean I haven't been blogging at all,

it just means some suffer more than others. 

So, in a shameless promotion of myself, 

check out my other blogs to see what I might be up to.

The Wannabe Farm- All about life at home: chickens, horses, cats, gardens, preserving food, recipes... a real hodgepodge of stuff

Things The Brat Child Says- This is all about the funny stuff my son does. And he's pretty funny.

Gettysburg Ghosts - Like the title suggests, this is a blog about the paranormal: Stories, movie and book reviews, instructional information on investigations and whatever else I manage to blog about. 

Falling Apples

Yesterday was a snow day.  

That's right, it was March 25th and we had a snow day.   

In fact, we had the biggest amount of snow we've all all winter, err, spring.

So, while I was making the Brat Child's lunch-

which consisted of bologna and mustard cut in a specific way with exactly 2 pieces of bologna and mustard on each piece of bread and between the bologna-

I wondered where in the world he got his peculiar food issues.

And then it hit me.
ME.
When I was younger I would eat 2 things regularly:
a cheese sandwich that had to be cut exactly in quarters-
squares not triangles
or a bologna sandwich with mayo
and only Oscar Mayer bolonga.

I was thinking about a time I was over at Pepop and Memom's house
and I asked to stay for lunch.
Memom said, "Only if you bring your own bologna."
So I went over to our trailer and got my bologna out of the fridge.
I ran back over to Pepop's clutching my Oscar Mayer,
barged into the house waving the yellow package yelling
"I brought my bologna!"
Turns out Memom was joking.
Also turns out that apple of mine didn't fall too far from the mama tree.

Avast ye Mateys!

The Brat Child loves pirates

Arrrgh! I be usin' me finger as me hook!

 So when Poppy was working on the boat in dry dock, the Brat Child decided to don his new patch and skull and bone bracelet and play around.

 His pirate accessories were purchased at a local store called Nauti Nells, aka, 'The Pirate Store'.  Each time we stop, the lady who works there recognizes the Brat Child and 

always lets him know if they've gotten any new piratey items in.

Arrrgh! Give me yer booty!

 

  And while these photos were from 3 years ago, rest assured he still occasionally dresses in pirate garb.

Monday Meditation- But Not Really

Where do I begin? 

It seems lately I've been running around like a chicken with its head cut off.  

I don't really know if they run around without their heads, but just last night while trying to catch chickens 

I realized those cluckers run fast! 

They also fly.  

And one likes to hide in poison ivy. 

Thankfully my lovely significant other was too busy laughing to think to take any incriminating photos or video- trust me, it's as crazy and hilarious as you are picturing in your head. 

One of my busy tasks this weekend was building a chicken coop.  

I didn't actually do much other than push or hold pieces of 2x4, comment on how cute I thought my significant other looked cutting wood and change the dimension of the coop last minute so Midge and her boyfriend had to drive to Lowe's for more lumber. 

Today I will again be helping to finish the project.

In other news.... the Brat Child is graduating from Kindergarten into 1st grade today.  

According to him, he could 

"Sewiouswy gwaduate into fird gwade accuz I have a super giant bwain." 

Also, he attended "kids' church" for the first time this Sunday.  

I wonder how many other parents had to give the 

"No burping, No farting, No talking about burping or farting, if you fart do not announce that you have farted, Do Not ask people if "they smell that"" talk to their child before church?

And that gorgeous creature in the yellow dress- My daughter Midge- is graduating from HIGH SCHOOL on Friday.  

This has sent me into a tailspin of stress, anxiety and panic.

Not only because I have the graduation of my first born and only daughter and how she's all grown up, yadda yadda, but I have a largish party to prepare for AND all the things required for her to go off to college at the end of August: 

 Financial Aid forms, student loan deadlines, correspondence with her field hockey and basketball coaches...

I CAN NOT wait for it all to be done and set.  

Then I can spend my time worrying about nothing at places like this...

Monday Meditation

The best way to mend a broken heart is time and girlfriends. 

~Gwyneth Paltrow

Last night Midge and her long time (nearly 2 years) boyfriend broke up. 

It wasn't mutual. 

It wasn't her idea.

There are many things I could say to try and mend her broken heart, but

I think her dear brother The Brat Child did it best.

BC: So we're never going to see him again?

Me: Nope

BC: (in a matter-of-fact voice) Well, then I guess we should just shoot him.

Me: (to Midge) I guess this is where I should tell him violence isn't the answer.

BC: (after driving past some cows) We could make him kiss a cow's butt.  A POOPY cow butt!

Me: Good idea, less violent.

BC: Then we could get a gun, load it up and shoot him then tie him up, take him to "watersand" and throw him in the water and let sharks eat him!

I'm now wondering if the Brat Child was a Mafia Don in a previous life.

Another Conversation With the Brat Child

BC: (climbing into bed one morning and putting his arm around me) You wanna kiss at the beach baby?
Me: Uh, no, you don't really say stuff like that to your mom.
BC: How 'bout if I marry you?
Me: You can't marry your mom.
BC: How'bout Midge.  She's not a mom.
Me: No you can't marry your sister, that's legal only in Kentucky and West Virginia not legal in Pennsylvania, Maryland or Virginia.
BC: Den I'm gonna marry you.
Me: OK fine.
BC: I'm gonna marry you, Mom, and den I'm gonna buy you diamonds at Wal-Mart.

Only the best for his Mamma.

Golf Carts

Everyone is complaining about the youth of today.  They're lazy, they expect to get things with little to no work, and they have a sense of entitlement.  I think I have discovered the reason why: Golf Carts.

When I was a kid, I walked everywhere I needed to go.  Sometimes there would be enough room in the truck to bring my bike on vacation, and then I got to ride my bike everywhere.  Either way, I got where I was going by my own power.  Want to go up to the playground at the community center and play basketball or tennis? You walked and you had to actually carry your basketball/tennis racket/sports equipment.  You didn't ride on a golf cart equipped with a basket that held all your various sporting needs.  And don't even get me started on the point that 12 year olds aren't allowed to get driver's licenses for a very good reason.  So don't let them travel on a road in a golf cart.
And while I understand the idea of the elderly driving a golf cart to get around because they aren't able to drive a car anymore, I also question the good sense in letting someone who can't drive a car on a road, drive a golf cart where pedestrians walk. 
Then again, I've started saying things like "I'm watching my sodium intake" and once you start saying that and complaining about the youth of today, well, might as well get on the waiting list at your local nursing home and go buy some Geritol.

And, no, my children are not impervious to the pull of golf carts. After seeing one for sale, The Brat Child (at the prompting of Big Sis) said, "Hey, Mom, let's get that wittle car!"  I of course responded with every parent's standby, "Are your legs broken?"  This caused him to fall quiet in contemplation.
Later that afternoon, I suggested we all take a walk.  The Brat Child looked at me and said matter-of-factly, "No, Mom, my eggs is broken."
Sometimes I beat my head against the wall and wish I didn't have such a smart 4 year old get frustrated.

A Lesson in Manners

Many adults complain about the lack of manners in today's youth.  Interesting that today, one adult got a lesson from none other than my darling Brat Child- the absolute last person I would expect to school someone in politeness. 

Today I ventured out to the local grocery store to get snack items for today's big game (that would be the Ravens vs Squeelers matchup in NFL playoffs).  Brat Child was hell bent on getting donuts- "BIG donuts not the wittle ones in the bag but the chockit covered ones with no stuff innit just the plain insides and chockit frosting."  So while I was off getting my French Onion dip for my chips, I sent Big Sis off with the Brat Child to get the donuts.  The following story was told to me by Big Sis...

There was this woman taking forever to pick out her donuts and there was only one chocolate covered donut left.  I kept tell BC that I would get him that last donut just so the woman knew not to take it.  She finally gets out of the way and I go to to get BC's donut and this other woman practically pushes me out of the way and BC says, "Excuse ME Wady!" The woman just looks at him but she backs up and I get the donut.  Then BC picks a chocolate frosted donut shaped like a football and there's one left so I go to get it and the woman gets huffy because she wanted it.  She tries to push me out of the way again so BC stands right in front of both doors at the donut display and spreads his arms out and his legs and stands there in front of the specialty donuts saying, "hmmm which one I want?" 

At the end of her story Big Sis says, "I swear, Mom, he's just like you.  But that lady deserved it"

Go Ravens!

The Great Bunny Caper

I realize that this story has absolutely nothing to do with Deltaville, but I think it is amusing so I thought I'd share. 

Christmas 2009, The Brat Child received this adorable black bunny for Christmas.  The Brat Child, being an avid fan of Spiderman and all his counterparts, named the new addition Venom (for those of you who are not avid fans of Spiderman, Venom is the villain who looks like a black Spiderman).  The Brat Child loved his new friend.  Venom liked to hop around the couch, climbing all over anyone who was sitting there and even playing "games" like jump-on-the-head-of-the-unsuspecting-human-and-run-away.  We all loved Venom.  We liked him so much, I lost hold of my senses was convinced Venom would be happier with a friend, and in the end came home with not A friend but TWO friends. 

We played with out bunnies and all was right in the world.  Sadly in late spring tragedy struck.  We lost all three of our bunnies to what we believe was bad food (I'll spare the discussion of a certain fungus).  I wasn't sure how to handle telling the Brat Child.  My mom suggested I not mention anything right away and when I had to, tell him they all ran away. 

Skip ahead to May.....

The Brat Child, Big Sis and I are in the grocery store shopping for items for the Brat Child's 4th birthday party.  While in the produce section, BC starts filling the cart with carrots.  I tell him I don't need any and he says, "Venom do.  Venom told me he needs carrots."  So here I was faced with the dilemma of telling the poor child his bunny ran away on the day of his birthday party. Wonderful.

Me: Honey, Venom and the other bunnies ran away

BC: No him didn't

Me: Yes, he did

BC: You have to find him!

Me: I can't find him.

BC: Tell Dad to get in him car and drive around and call him name!

Me: Honey, bunnies don't come when they are called, you can't find him like that.

BC: Yes you can! Him know his name!

At this point, people are staring and Big Sis and I are near tears ourselves at the sight of BC in the throes of despair.

Me: OK, BC, I will find Venom.

BC and Big Sis: You will? (obviously one of them was a little more incredulous than the other)

Me: Yes, I will, let's get in the car.

Big Sis: Mom, how exactly does one find a dead, er, lost bunny?

Me: No idea.

So we get to the car and I start thinking.  I decide to contact the pet store where Venom came from.  Of course, he came from a pet store an hour away because BC asked for a black bunny and it was the only store that had one at the time.  I get the number for the store and call.

Me: Yes, I was wondering if you have any black bunnies?

Sales Girl: Let me check. Yes, we have 2.

Me: Fabulous! Is there any way you can hold one for me? I'm driving there RIGHT NOW but it will take me an hour to get there.

Girl: We don't typically do holds on animals.

Me: I understand but here's the deal.  My 4 year old son's bunny RAN AWAY and you just called me and told me you FOUND HIS BUNNY. And it's my son's birthday today.

Girl: Hold on one second for me.

Manager: Ma'am?

Me: Yes?

Manager: We can't technically hold the bunny for you, but under the circumstances, I will tell the staff to deter anyone from buying the black bunnies.

Me; Bless You!

So we high tailed it to the pet store.  I left BC in the car with Big Sis while I went in to make my purchase.  I knew BC would be too smart to allow him to see money change hands, plus I was unsure what would happen.  I walked in and was escorted to the bunnies to discover that these bunnies were lionhead/dwarf mix bunnies.  That means they have long hair around their head.  Venom didn't have ANY long hair.  Great.  So I picked the one that had the least amount of hair and took him outside all the while muttering about how I was going to explain the extra hair. 

Once outside, I presented "Venom" to BC who cried from happiness at having his bunny back.

BC: Mom, why do him have hair?

Me: Well, he was gone so long he grew a beard.

BC: Venom! You all growed up with a beard!

(at this point I am thanking whatever powers that be that my son felt that rabbits growing beards was perfectly normal and reasonable)

BC: Mom, why him have this white on him feet?

The New Venom hanging with Ethan

Me: (just noticing the tiny white tips on the paws) Well, that's from his spiderwebs.

BC: Venom has spiderwebs! All Right!

Since that time, BC has concocted an elaborate story on how Venom ran away and how he managed to run away clear over a mountain.  It's quite simple really- he drove a tractor.  Venom has somewhat of a star status around these parts.  He's made several appearances at daycare where the kids ask me exactly how Venom managed to drive the tractor when he can't reach the pedals.  I simply say nothing and let all the kids reason it out.  They usually come up with some idea that satisfies their questions.

Me, I'm just glad it all worked out, and I hope that we don't have any more episodes of runaway bunnies.

Snails

Periwinkles or snails, whatever you want to call them, are all over the place in Delatville.  I prefer calling them snails since Periwinkle makes me think of Tinkerbell and there's nothing fairy-like about a snail.  And periwinkle also conjours that odd color of blue in the Crayola box. 

Anyway, is seems snails are a natural kid attractor.  If you want to catch a kid, throw some snails in a pile under a box rigged with a stick and string.  Wait for the kid to go in to pluck up the snails, pull the string and voila!  You've caught a kid. I don't know why you'd want to catch a kid especially since 90% of the time I'm willing to sell the Brat Child, but if you did that's how I would do it.  For a kid, a snail is the perfect kind of marine animal to mess with.  It's small, it doesn't bite, it doesn't run away and it moves in a slimy trail of snail poop (OK for the science teacher who might read this I know it's not poop it's mucus) what more could a kid ask for in a wild pet?

I know my cousin and I spent many summers "catching" snails.  We'd lay on the pier and lean over to pluck the snails from the sea grass, like picking berries, and plop them into our buckets.  One summer we had the bright idea of bringing our snails into the trailer.  We asked Grandmother who probably said something about not letting them loose.  Seriously? Like they're going to leap from the bucket and race through the house.  So when Grandmother went outside, Kelly and I began building our snail habitat- in the kitchen sink.  There were shells, pieces of wood, sand and water.  Happy with our habitat, we dumped the bucket 'o snails into the sink and went off on another adventure.  When we returned, it was to a very unhappy Grandmother.  Not only was she not happy with the habitat in her sink, but apparently our snails were not smart enough to know they had to stay in the sink.  We had snail trails all over the kitchen.  About 15 years later when we were cleaning out the trailer to prepare for building the new house, I found a snail shell in one of the pots in the back of the cabinet.  I'm pretty sure I know where it came from.

And it seems that an interest in snails is mildly genetic.

Meet The Brat Child. 

He is a snail serial killer. 

Go to the snail mail post office and you will see his photo there under the snail's most wanted. 

In fact, in this photo he is holding what is apparently a baby snail. 

Yes, the Brat Child loves catching snails.  He refers to it as snail hunting.  This was my conversation with him about hunting snails:

Me: So how do you hunt snails?

BC: You jus gwab dem and put dem in the bucket.

Me' So it's not like deer hunting?

BC: Umm, no, you don't need no gun.

Me: So you don't have to shoot them?

BC: No, you jus gwab dem.

Me: Why do you catch snails?

BC: Ummm a-uz you gwab dem and put dem in da bucket and den take dem home.

Me: Don't they die if you take them home?

BC: No.

Me: So how come they don't come out of their shells when you bring them home?

BC: Well, sometimes dey are sweeping a wong, wong time.  And sometimes, actually, they aren't sweeping but their heads will come out of da shells but onny if you don't wook at dem.  If you wook at dem they don't come out, soooo, dey not dead dey jus don't want you wooking at dem or dey sweeping.

 I have found 3 not dead snails in my van.  I was apparently wooking at dem.

And to keep with the theme of symbolism in whatever.... here's a snippet about snail totems, "Snails also teach us to protect the inner child.  Snail people often present a hard shell to the world when they really have a tender heart and strong feelings. Watch for Snail and learn who and when to trust."

Conversations with the Brat Child and More Dock Diving Dogs

One afternoon while driving down the road....

BC: Oh My GAWD!

Me: Ethan, we don't say God, we say gosh.

BC: Is God a bad word like {bleep}

Me: Uh, no, God is, well, He um, He made all the trees and stuff and it just isn't nice to use His name like that, it's rude.

BC: oh, does He have a dog?

Me: Does God have a dog?

BC: yeah do Him have a dog?

Big Sis: Yeah, Mom, does He have a dog? (please note teenage sarcasm)

Me: I'm sure He has one.

BC: What's his name?

Me: The dog?

BC: Yeah, him have a name?

Me: I don't know, what do you think God would name His dog?

BC: I don't know, Mom, I never saw Him before. (note 4 year old imitation of teenage sarcasm)

Simple Pleasure: Choc-it Shakes sans Whip Cream

On one of our many excursions during vacation, we opted to stop at a fast food joint grease hole restaurant to get something to drink.  Of course the Brat Child wanted chocolate chip cookies.  Because lunch was planned in the near future, I didn't want his meal spoiled by empty calories, so to tempt him away from the cookies I suggested- a Chocolate Milkshake (as any good mother would because if you suck those empty calories up in a straw they aren't as filling as if you actually chewed before swallowing or something like that).  Brat Child was not easily swayed until I explained that it was chocolate ice cream you eat with a STRAW. 

"This is Goom.  I like choc-it shakes!"  He was a fan at the first sip.  (why he can say "amazing" with precise clarity but can't get that "good" has a d not an m on the end of it is beyond me).

So a few days after the shake initiation, we were headed home from the beach.  Passing the Hardee's in Mathews (also know as the World's Slowest Fast Food Place- seriously I think it's in the Guinness Book of Records), my mom asked if anyone was thirsty.  Being tired, we opted to just go home.  Until the Brat Child started yelling (please note any capitalization or enlarged font denotes extreme volume), "Go Back! Go Back! I want a CHOC-IT SHAKE!"  So my mom turned around, and Brat Child's head stopped spinning 360 degrees and was no longer vomiting pea soup. 

We ordered our drinks and 2 shakes (Big Sis also wanted one) and of course Hardee's, while slow, makes a damn fine shake complete with whipped cream.  Unfortunately, the Brat Child doesn't think whipped cream is appropriate topping for choc-it shakes. 

BC- I don't wike cweam
B Sis- It's good
BC (now sobbing) I don't wike it!
BS- I'll take it off
BC- stoopid wady! (referring to the woman at the drive thru window)
Me- Hey! Ethan that isn't nice we don't call people stupid!
BC- She is! She a STOOPID WADY she put CWEAM on MY CHOC-IT SHAKE AND I DON'T WANT IT!
BS- Here's your shake I took the cream off
BC- 'Anks Didget mmm, dis gooom.

Crisis averted.  The next night, we ordered 5 shakes, one without "cweam". 

And they were GOOOOM!

*Wait until you hear about the vultures, the sausage discount and the guy who mooned everyone in the Hardee's parking lot.... and CBW says Mathews is dull and boring!

What River is This?

When I was  little, my mother would always play a game referred to as : "What river is this?".  Each time we traveled to Deltaville, my mom would ask what river we were driving over.  Whenever we would cross a bridge, I was always asked, "what river is this?" in a sing-songy way.  My daughter never liked the game and once she could read, she would simply wait to answer after she was able to see the sign.  My son, however, loves the game and embraces it wholeheartedly.  When asked what river it is, he usually replies with "I don't know" in he same sing-song fashion as the question was asked.  But surprisingly at the age of 3, he was able to come up with the names.... sort of.


The Piankatank that we travel over on our way to Mathews or Gloucester became the Piankahannock.

The Rappahannock which is the river our place is located on became the Rappahanatank.

But my all time favorite was the time we drove through West Point across the Pamunkey, that became the Pot Monkey (I've known a few of those in my time).