I'm With You No Matter Where Else I Am
Sailor and I just spent the last 4 days
in a dilapidated USFS cabin
having a grand old time
with two of our friends.
We picked 1.5 gallons of huckleberries
and ate like kings
because if you have a propane fridge,
and a full-size gas stove
it's not camping
DESPITE
the natural ambiance of bats in the bedrooms
and the scritching of mice
(alive and ghostly remnants
of found corpses
WE KNOW NOT)
we were very comfortable.
After a hot summer in the high 90s,
we escaped to misty mountaintops
with 70 degree highs
and forecasts of scattered showers.
We thanked our friends every night for coming along
for a weekend away
in a dilapidated cabin
located in the middle of
huckleberry heaven.
This year fresh huckleberries are $110/gallon to purchase.
There are lots of reasons why,
but mostly it's because
they're a plant that can't be cultivated,
and you need to know where to find them,
and they are challenging to pick.
They are small,
delicate,
and grow as individuals.
No clumping.
Every berry needs to be hand-picked,
and the bushes are low,
and the berries grow in random patterns
from bush-to-bush.
Some grow under the leaves.
Some grow on top of the leaves.
Some grow amongst the leaves.
It is hard to get a rhythm.
Generally,
I dance to my own rhythm.
I live to my own beat.
Not everyone is very happy about that,
but Sailor steps right in along with me
somehow.
I don't know how he does.
I don't know why he does, either.
I am an accredited pain in the ass.
Several of my closest friends,
and of course my mother will agree.
But Sailor only sighs
and smiles at me
and tells me that he's met those people,
and I am definitely not
a pain in the ass,
despite my many personal failures.
Thanks, Love.
You really get me.
When we stopped at a place called
"Pirate Pit Stop & Cafe"
and it turns out they very little
besides convenience store snacks,
reheated burritos (sold out)
and Trump/Let's Go Brandon gear...
..... we still cruised around
just to see.
Try on an oversized sunhat
and check out their Good Humor ice cream selections.
But what they DID have was a barrel of squawking chickens
and many signs that said,
"DO NOT SQUEEZE UNLESS YOU BUY!"
So... I kinda had to.
I got a gold-glitter version.
Blinged out screaming chicken toy.
Sailor says,
"Yes. You need that."
Why?
Because he's a monster.
Because he knows
I'm a monster.
Since I'm buying,
I enjoy my in-store squawkfest
and singing to Willy Wonka
in my head:
I've got a golden chicken!
I've got a golden chance
to make my way,
with a golden chicken
it's a golden day!
Or at least a recognizably close approximation thereof.
Wherever Sailor and I go,
we have fun,
even if we get frustrated
or tired
or sore.
Whatever we do together,
we love doing it together.
Every meal out feels like a good time and a great adventure.
Every store run,
every errand or trip...
all feels exciting
and is always
ALWAYS
fun.
Next week we're camping at a friends cabin,
and sailing Sailor's sailboat.
Week after I'm going camping with my lady-type friends
having a birthday party in the woods.
Work is revving up as summer plans
start winding down.
I'm feeling very...
fruitful
after a weekend of picking berries
in the quiet of the woods
with two good friends
and Sailor
by my side -
and I by his.
in a dilapidated USFS cabin
having a grand old time
with two of our friends.
We picked 1.5 gallons of huckleberries
and ate like kings
because if you have a propane fridge,
and a full-size gas stove
it's not camping
DESPITE
the natural ambiance of bats in the bedrooms
and the scritching of mice
(alive and ghostly remnants
of found corpses
WE KNOW NOT)
we were very comfortable.
After a hot summer in the high 90s,
we escaped to misty mountaintops
with 70 degree highs
and forecasts of scattered showers.
We thanked our friends every night for coming along
for a weekend away
in a dilapidated cabin
located in the middle of
huckleberry heaven.
This year fresh huckleberries are $110/gallon to purchase.
There are lots of reasons why,
but mostly it's because
they're a plant that can't be cultivated,
and you need to know where to find them,
and they are challenging to pick.
They are small,
delicate,
and grow as individuals.
No clumping.
Every berry needs to be hand-picked,
and the bushes are low,
and the berries grow in random patterns
from bush-to-bush.
Some grow under the leaves.
Some grow on top of the leaves.
Some grow amongst the leaves.
It is hard to get a rhythm.
Generally,
I dance to my own rhythm.
I live to my own beat.
Not everyone is very happy about that,
but Sailor steps right in along with me
somehow.
I don't know how he does.
I don't know why he does, either.
I am an accredited pain in the ass.
Several of my closest friends,
and of course my mother will agree.
But Sailor only sighs
and smiles at me
and tells me that he's met those people,
and I am definitely not
a pain in the ass,
despite my many personal failures.
Thanks, Love.
You really get me.
When we stopped at a place called
"Pirate Pit Stop & Cafe"
and it turns out they very little
besides convenience store snacks,
reheated burritos (sold out)
and Trump/Let's Go Brandon gear...
..... we still cruised around
just to see.
Try on an oversized sunhat
and check out their Good Humor ice cream selections.
But what they DID have was a barrel of squawking chickens
and many signs that said,
"DO NOT SQUEEZE UNLESS YOU BUY!"
So... I kinda had to.
I got a gold-glitter version.
Blinged out screaming chicken toy.
Sailor says,
"Yes. You need that."
Why?
Because he's a monster.
Because he knows
I'm a monster.
Since I'm buying,
I enjoy my in-store squawkfest
and singing to Willy Wonka
in my head:
I've got a golden chicken!
I've got a golden chance
to make my way,
with a golden chicken
it's a golden day!
Or at least a recognizably close approximation thereof.
Wherever Sailor and I go,
we have fun,
even if we get frustrated
or tired
or sore.
Whatever we do together,
we love doing it together.
Every meal out feels like a good time and a great adventure.
Every store run,
every errand or trip...
all feels exciting
and is always
ALWAYS
fun.
Next week we're camping at a friends cabin,
and sailing Sailor's sailboat.
Week after I'm going camping with my lady-type friends
having a birthday party in the woods.
Work is revving up as summer plans
start winding down.
I'm feeling very...
fruitful
after a weekend of picking berries
in the quiet of the woods
with two good friends
and Sailor
by my side -
and I by his.