[allison-]

Dude, we are SO doing that. Next time we GTG it will be at my 'local', which has a back room we can reserve, which conveniently has a big-screen. As the place is not a lame fern bar, smoking is allowed, but since it's our own room, it will only be our smoke.

[Randy]

You can count on me being at that one, would be fun seeing and hearing about different folks' trips. Where is your "local"?

[Frond]

What's a "fern bar"?

[Midforker]

On a hot late July evening I was driving up the middle fork road. I decided to explore one of those spur short spur roads. I wish I still could remember the number. This road was a heck of alot worse than the stretch that goes to Goldmeyer. Fortunately the ruts were all dried out due to the extreme drought of the year, but I had to literally crawl over the couch with the springs sticking through the upholstery, weave around the refridgerators and washing machines, and kwathumpa over stacks of old treadless tires. I almost hit a goat that was poking its nose through some brambles to get at some left over pork n' beans. But I digress. After I got past this stretch the road was better, but it sure was hot. Then I noticed the vegitation growing sparser. Huh? Remember, the mfs valley is essentially a rainforest. Even during droughts stuff grows thick and copious. Now it was looking like a stretch of the Serengeti, but what was odd was that everything looked like it was freshly dug up, as if somebody had come in and stolen all the local flora. There were no other cars around, though. No shovels, picks...anything. Then up ahead I heard a commotion, loud and boisterous. I was about to stumble upon one of those hippie parties that had started in the 60's and for some reason had never stopped. Just my luck, but it was the mfs road after all. I had some bear spray with me, but I don't carry a gun, so I proceeded cautiously. Through the trees I saw weird bluish purple and red tubular glow. I got out of my car, silently clicked the door shut, and crept forward on all fours. I started to peer over the the log, but a bottle whizzed over my head, crashing into the rocks behind me. Finally I had the courage to try again. Through the hazy smoke, I saw scores of luscioius green leafy plants clustered around a long table. Many heavyset, some thin, some short, some tall, and one with an evil scar running down its left side. A gangly one was singing what was evidently the local popular ballad "It Ain't Easy Being a Green" or some such. The bottles, the smoke, the music--it all added up. This was a fern bar. I could either make like a tree and leaf, or I could blend amidst the foliage. I sidled up to the bar and ordered...a seltzer. Of course.

[polarbear-]

I think this ditty gives an apt description of a fern bar.