I see from dozens of posts here that many of you are upset, bewildered, and even angered by Tim Millers sudden decision yesterday to abort the massive search for Caylee that weve all been counting on for weeks. I understand how you feel, but I ask you to consider two things: 1) Nothing would benefit and delight Caseys Defense team more than having TES conduct a widely publicized, so-called massive, search of all these areasbut turn up absolutely nothing. For this reasonand in this instanceI think that if TES lacks the manpower to conduct a thorough, intensive search of an area, then its better that they dont search at all. As you all know, on Saturday, less than half the anticipated searchers actually turned up for this massive search, and only a paltry few of the 500 professional bounty hunters Tim was expecting. The turnout on Sunday was pitifully small considering the areas needing to be thoroughly searched. 2) If you haven't actually been at any of these search sites, forget the mowed fields we saw on Murt's cameras and forget the media's aerial shots of picturesque clearings surrounded by woods and bounded by pretty vegetation. The reality is that Orlando has sprouted up in the midst of hundreds of thousands of acres of swampy, alligator-infested, snake-infested areas of dense foliage and trees that resemble jungles more than woods. When you're up close and personal, standing at the edge of that barrier of dense tropical woods, things look a lot different and a lot more foreboding. To give you an idea, last month, on a sunny cheerful morning, I was privileged to be alone with 8 TES and LE people at the site where the Size 6 Disney dress was discovered. The site bordered a perfectly civilized 2 lane road directly behind an industrial complex, and while LE's amazing dogs darted in and out along the road, I decided I should make myself useful and do a little exploring like the others were doing. I walked right up to that impenetrable barrier of thick green, shoved some branches aside, stepped forward, and realized that 20 feet in front of me there was an enchanting little pond surrounded by rocks and shaded with overhanging branches. I started to take another step forward when a middle-aged LE guy pleasantly insisted, Lets throw a couple stones in there. He handed me a stone roughly the size and shape of a hockey puck and kept a similar stone in his hand for himself. Privately, I thought this was a very inappropriate time for us to have a skipping stones contest, but I acquiesced because, after all, hes LE, and so I obediently flung my stone at the pond. I overshot the pond by an embarrassing distance, probably because my heart wasnt in the game, or more likely, because I have lousy depth perception. Your turn, I told him, expecting him to mock my clumsy attempt, but all he did was hurl his own stone directly into the underbrush surrounding the edge of the pond. His shot wasnt a whole lot better than mine, and I was going to mention that to him, but as his rock landed he whispered sort of imperatively, Listen. I heard it immediately--a mysterious, exotic orchestra of Latin maracas. Im a city girl, and I was enchanted by this unprecedented glimpse into Floridas flora, fauna, and especially these delightfully noisy insects or frogs or whatever. Whats making that sound? I asked in a reverent whisper, tiptoeing forward another step. He put a restraining hand on my arm. Rattlesnakes. An Olympic medalist couldn't have caught up with me in the "Screaming While Running Event" that took place next. Sorry this was so long. I wanted to help relieve the awful frustration and helplessness we're all feeling.