Data miners would know all they want to know if they'd just walk around my lake once. This soon-to-be-summer-globe, blue-mountain paradise before the Black Falls of Etowah, that howling wilderness where I fell on a slimy waterfall and got a scar on the bottom of my chin, it sounded like a gunshot among the tangle of honeysuckle. I was a mute during that time, the most gracious and humblest of all mutes in my opinion.