With a hole in my toe from a saw being on the ground. Sure, you could blame me for being the one with sandals. But I was actually one of three (people wasting my flavor!), and, well, YOU NEVER PUT A FUCKING SAW ON THE GROUND UNCOVERED! The whole reason we teach/learn safety practices is because it’s dangerous to leave sharp things on the ground. Screw open-toed shoes. What if someone fell on it with their hands or face? If wearing covered shoes is the solution, safety practices are kinda dumb.
I think my Dad copped to it, though. I don’t care/am not mad. But still. Puncture wounds from a [very] rusty saw hurt like hell.
Our boys also did us proud, with a fire that had an old Christmas tree in the middle for kindling. Seriously, and not a small one. It was pretty amazing.
As usual when you come home from a camping trip wherein you’re in close quarters with lots of other men, young men and boys, there are people you miss right away and people whom you don’t want to see again for a while, maybe even a long time. Like Captain M.O.P. (Mullet On Purpose)# whose only words to me all weekend were a racist remark about home buying and neighborhoods that are “dark in da daytohm, too.”*
Not to mention how tiresome, childish and transparent constantly teasing someone about their fucking education is. It’s not like anyone gave it to me or like I go around judging people without graduate degrees. Or how insulting it is to be told that you’re “not a real parent” because you only have one child. Of course, anyone could say that to anyone with less children than he/she has. That’s mean and stupid. There was a lot of mean and stupid this weekend, and I might cop to a little of both myself. “Mullet On Purpose” isn’t very nice.
But getting outside is always good for the soul, and we had spectacular weather Saturday for orienteering lessons (with paper, pen and compass, not a GPS unit), for sitting in the shade with coffee and falling asleep for a little while, and for just relaxing a bit.
A gross confession: For the first time in my life, I had an overwhelming urge to poop in the woods, in a hole. The bathroom was nasty, but there were showers. How often do you get to poop outside but then get a shower? I had shower items ready, babywipes (Dr. Dad never leaves home without them!) and guts mustered and prepared. I was even familiar enough (from 21 years of camping there) with the area to know where I’d not be disturbed. I was excited by the whole affair. And then I remembered that I didn’t have a shovel.
Of course, there was one sticking out of the ground in our campsite, I later found/remembered. (Maybe next year!)
This is a volunteering commitment that I’ve been slowly backing off from just a bit, as it is starting to eat time with my own family. I don’t want to miss every Friday night with my own kid (wow, still my kid, even though I only have one…) in order to be with other kids. But I still go, around every other week and to most outings and camping trips.
Camping and hiking are good for me, and I don’t do enough of either.
There are nice walks to be had where I live now, but it’s even better .6-.7 miles up the road, where we’re moving in a few weeks. Better shade, anyway.
#(My favorite new term, made of sleeplessness/sleepiness/spite.)
*(Baltimorese for “daytime.”)
