Well, it' snowing again right now; big, juicy, cold freaking flakes just plummeting down from the stainless steel sky. But, perhaps despite expectations, I am not pissed off. I am not about to bitch or moan or whine or complain or point out that we're on the supposedly sunny end now of the equinox and weather like this is almost offensive, or anything negative along those lines. At. All.
See, I am a hero. Did you hear that? No goat; a genuine American HERO.
Okay, so maybe future generations shan't be learning all about me in future histories; I do exaggerate from time to time. In fact, you could almost call that a hallmark of my personality. Nevertheless, I cannot help but feel bosom-swelling pride that my warily-anticipated and wincingly-planned Celebratory Springtime Camp-Fete on Whidbey Island was, indeed, a triumph. The weather behaved beyond all my reasonable expectations, but as I willed it to be so, I am certainly intent on taking all the credit, fully deserved or not.
And although we got off to a rocky start, it seems a small sacrifice to the fickle Spring furies was needed to ensure an overall glorious time. I'm good with that.
I was able to wheedle my boss into letting me off work early on Friday, which turned out to be a blessing as Deena and I didn't meet Lance at the campsite until almost 9:00pm Friday night. After rushing out of work, stopping at the bank and at the store, flying to Shelton to unload my stuff into Deena's vehicle, detouring into Poulsbo to drop the Intrepid Sammy off at Sara the Cousin's house, and bulletting up to Port Townsend to catch the ferry over to Whidbey, we pulled, feeling victorious, into the terminal with 10 minutes to spare before the next scheduled departure, only to find that the next ferry had been cancelled five minutes prior due to strong western winds. I guess my face was quite expressive as, "WHAT?!" flew uncontrollable past my lips upon receiving this dire news.
If you know anything about Puget Sound, then you know my angst. If you don't know Puget Sound, then I'll just mention that to get anywhere from one side to the other, you either catch a ferry or go the long way around the entire sound. We just had several hours added onto our journey, at the very least. So back we go the way we came, and we managed to hit the next ferry from Kingston to Edmonds, and then up north on I-5 to Mount Vernon and east on 20 to cross the Deception Pass bridge in the dark of night to the campground. When we finally arrived, Lance was most cozily sitting beside a lovely fire, entertaining himself contentedly with his new Apple i-Phone. I guess once in a while it pays to be a crazed techie.
Naturally, we anticipated the rain to start at any second (it was raining like hell in Shelton and in Poulsbo when we left, which rendered me cold and wet before we had even begun), so we frenetically pitched the tent and threw some tarps on top and around it to fortify its rain and wind resistance and hopefully, hold in some heat.
Yeah, it may have looked like hell, and ultimately was made unneccesary by the lack of any wind or rain, but I remain confident that we would have stayed warm and dry if the clouds had rolled in and opened up. My confidence that the wind wouldn't have blown the shit out of us isn't as strong, but this is merely 20-20 hindsight, is all.
What's the first thing one needs after pitching a tent, setting up bedding, and sitting down by a crackling fire? If you said "Duh, cocktail," then you could possibly deserve the chance to maybe come hang with us a little bit some day; I like the cut of your gib, as Mr. Burns might say. Thus Yay for Lance, who brought the vodka, from one who needed the vodka after flying around the state nonstop for the previous 9 hours.
However, I don't know why I should feel so surprised every time Lance displays such lovely generosity in alcoholic and other ways. His parents taught him very well.
This fact was demonstrated on Saturday, when we received a surprise visit from Ma and Pa Davey, picnic basket and several bottles of wine in tow. Thus, by 1:30 pm that delightfully dry Saturday afternoon, I had consumed three glasses of wine, copped a thoroughly enjoyable companionable buzz, and was laughing my ass off listening to "...one time, when I got drunk..." stories. I was even schooled in the fact that even though you might make it to the bathroom, you can still wet your pants.
Hobo stew is something that I have made camping dozens and dozens of times. It is merely meat--usually a hamburger, but sometimes chicken and this time we chose stew meat--potatoes (frozen hash browns work might fine), and veggies; I choose carrots and onions and peppers this time. You season stuff up a bit, if you want, and then you wrap stuff up in a couple of layers of tin foil and then cook it, turning frequently, on a hot bed of coals. Too-freakin'-simple. However, results can range from slightly raw to charred in places, depending on the size of your package and the heat of the fire (pun definitely intended.) These particular ones were done to perfection, and, as always, delicious--especially when butter, sour cream, or shredded cheese is added, along with some salt and pepper---damn, that's some serious good food. Couple it with a vodka cocktail, eaten by a warm fire during a lovely sunset, and folks, I tell ya, it doesn't get any better than that.
The best part about camping with Deena and Lance is the laughing. Gods, if I have met two other people capable of slaying me to my soul, I don't know who they are. Lance had to suffer Deena's serious obsession with his "ball" all weekend, and for some reason, every reference crippled me with paroxysms like I was some 6th-grader. But I do that every time Deena is enthused about something, because whenever we plan on doing something up right, or if we look back and feel we have done something up right, Deena always states metaphorically that we "shaved its balls!" and I find that particular metaphor deliciously absurd. I can hardly wait for October, when we are so totally going to "...shave Vegas' balls!"
I look forward to Spring, I must say. "They" may say that we are in for a cooler trend than normal, due to the cold hag current known as La Nina, but it has started out in splendid fashion, with people I cannot live without, in a place that feeds the eyes with beauty, soothes the ears with distant ocean crashing (and, I must say, jars one awake in the wee hours of the misty morn as the avian community competes to see which can outcry the others--the crows won, followed closely by the geese), stokes the body with the warmth of crackling smoky fires, fires the mind with snappy conversation, and calms the spirit with contented, unhurried silences. Sometimes, a person can find a brief bit of balance.
" Freeze this moment a little bit longer...make each sensation a little bit stronger..."
--Neil Peart
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