Truth be told in your return to MSP and your drive south on 52 show the vast farm land where the winds can blow the snow over the road and over your car and you've been eaten by a cold, white dragon. So, as Sgt Phil said to his officers before he sent them out, "Let's be careful out there." It's really about being "careful"and those of us who grew up in the 50's all knew what it meant, frozen pipes aside....we weren't that dumb. We bundled up tightly and if we walked briskly, even with the wind, we were kept warm enough to walk to school...which some of us did. Being several years older than you, GK,there were no school buses in my day. There was a streetcar that would take us near our school and mom gave us a dime to get there on it. But we who treasured a strawberry malt at the drugstore fountain on the way home after a hard day of memorization, spent it on better needs. So off we marched, my younger brother and I, me 10 and he 8, walked what we thought was many uphill miles of 5+ miles both ways. Later in life I measured it in my car and it turned out to be .82 miles, not even a mile. Our shorter legs counted more steps, and so it goes. Back then and for you, too, we avoided unleashed barking dogs if we could, we had no drugs to melt or puff, we didn't carrry a sidearm .45 and shoot all in its way. Ours were truly better days. Just ask us octogenarians and others near the 80's. We walked a lot, rode bikes, played ball with no umpire and, well, there's lots more. "You Can't Go Home Again," is a novel by Thomas Wolfe and he was right. You can't. But, we can tell our stories of "facts" which are true no longer. Glad you survived the MN drive south, GK. There are pockets down those ways where the old rules still rule. TK
'68, Dad between affordable landlords, bumed a tent, got permission to sleep in the fields a mile from town. We 3 boys learned to dig latrines and eat burned 'whateverthatwas' that dad scraped out of the frying pans. Hauling water in the steel drum from the spring down the road and bathing on Friday night down at the town dam. When hurricane season brought 3 weeks of rain we moved in with his widow half-sister. A hot bath and a bus pick-up on a tar road...both lives were idyllic.
For my son’s sake, because he was interested in nature and outdoor exploring and camping, I became a Boy Scout leader. With much training, preparation, and participating in organized adventures and nature exploring we had our Klondike Weekend Adventure. Klondike is a mid-winter camping experience with the Boy Scouts in a truly frozen environment. Just getting the tent stakes securely into the frozen ground was a quest. Some stakes didn’t sink too well and needed large rocks or logs were needed to support the guy lines which wasn’t entirely by the regulations but it was all that could be done.
In further preparation for this weekend, the boys and leaders designed and constructed dogsleds to use during the competitions scheduled during the weekend against other troops who were participating in their own Klondike adventure. There were easily a hundred boys at Camp “D - A” in Metamora, Michigan. Luckily, there was plenty of snow on the ground to make dogsledding possible. We had no Huskies so the boys would take turns riding and pulling the sleds. On the hilly paths no pulling but sliding was all that was needed. Needless to say, the boys had a great time even though we were half frozen. Precautions against frostbite were taken and an indoor warmup building was available. Funny was had by all.
This adventure happened almost forty years ago, and it’s still brought up in family and friend gatherings today. I wasn’t planning to relive my boyhood scouting adventures when I became an adult and father but it's funny how when a door opens in life it is always a good idea to step through it. Take the time, have the courage, and go forward.
Hi, Former Camp Counselor! I was a camp counselor, too, for almost ten summers, if you count CIT - Counselor In Training. Among our many "outings", there one that casts a singular shadow in my memory book. - yet it was the "outing" closest to home base! It was a "first run", beginner's paddle down the Moose River that flowed a short portage from our base camp. We let in near Old Forge in the Adirondacks, paddled through a cattail swamp that was way over our sight range as we knelt in our canoes, and felt relieved when we could actually could look out over the landscape. We paddled so quickly, our counselors decided that they didn't want us to end up eating our carefully packed lunch in our camp unit's kitchen space. They spotted a place we could pull our canoes in and "picnic." There had been some shellfish, freshwater mussels, which the other counselors had thought would be a great idea to try. Over a small fire they boiled the mussels and suggested that we "try something new!" My New England parent had tried to make a Connecticut Yankee our of me by trying to force me to eat clams, oysters, even lobster. " Look at all the money we spent on these delicacies" I'd hear. "A hamburger for me, please," was all I'd reply. I walked away from the "feast" and studied the whirlpools that eddied at the river's bend instead.
On the way again, flipped our canoes over our heads and portaged, stepping carefully between the ties back to our small pond. After paddling across, We racked the canoes, hiked up to our unit, and went "FOBIT"- Flat on Back in Tent. It wasn't half an hour before our counselors began making hurried rounds to girls who were throwing up, here, there and everywhere. Even the counselors couldn't hold back. Soon, everyone in the unit went first to the Infirmary, then to the emergency room in Old Forge.
Everyone except me! As a result - I was the only member of that group that didn't spend the rest of their camping session in bed! It turned out there was a sewage disposal outlet 500 yards upstream of where we had harvested the mussels. Everyone else had caught water-borne typhoid fever from the shellfish.
As you said about Minnesota versus strip clubs by a condo - sometimes the less " Exotic" choices are really better, thanks to their proven stability!
Ahh Garrison, I love you man. But not to know the delights of downhill (and cross country )skiing and camping - especially in the American Southwest with its surreal light - makes me a bit sad for anyone who feels that way. On the Western Slope of Colorado where I live both activities take place in wild places with no cell phone/internet access. I get some of my best writing done on extended camping/hiking trips with no distractions. I suspect in addition to a lack of modern tech sleeping bags you also never knew the delights of a gel pack portable toilets or delicious food in pouches prepared in a few minutes with. boiling water. Add a 3" sleeping pad and you'll never sleep better. Don't get me wrong - I'm always glad to return home to a shower and internet. But it's the best of both worlds situation, IMO. Keep up the good work, I look forward to the next book.
And here I thought I was the only one who loathed camping and skiing. Bless you for being a fellow survivor!
Truth be told in your return to MSP and your drive south on 52 show the vast farm land where the winds can blow the snow over the road and over your car and you've been eaten by a cold, white dragon. So, as Sgt Phil said to his officers before he sent them out, "Let's be careful out there." It's really about being "careful"and those of us who grew up in the 50's all knew what it meant, frozen pipes aside....we weren't that dumb. We bundled up tightly and if we walked briskly, even with the wind, we were kept warm enough to walk to school...which some of us did. Being several years older than you, GK,there were no school buses in my day. There was a streetcar that would take us near our school and mom gave us a dime to get there on it. But we who treasured a strawberry malt at the drugstore fountain on the way home after a hard day of memorization, spent it on better needs. So off we marched, my younger brother and I, me 10 and he 8, walked what we thought was many uphill miles of 5+ miles both ways. Later in life I measured it in my car and it turned out to be .82 miles, not even a mile. Our shorter legs counted more steps, and so it goes. Back then and for you, too, we avoided unleashed barking dogs if we could, we had no drugs to melt or puff, we didn't carrry a sidearm .45 and shoot all in its way. Ours were truly better days. Just ask us octogenarians and others near the 80's. We walked a lot, rode bikes, played ball with no umpire and, well, there's lots more. "You Can't Go Home Again," is a novel by Thomas Wolfe and he was right. You can't. But, we can tell our stories of "facts" which are true no longer. Glad you survived the MN drive south, GK. There are pockets down those ways where the old rules still rule. TK
Juliana, now there are three of us!
'68, Dad between affordable landlords, bumed a tent, got permission to sleep in the fields a mile from town. We 3 boys learned to dig latrines and eat burned 'whateverthatwas' that dad scraped out of the frying pans. Hauling water in the steel drum from the spring down the road and bathing on Friday night down at the town dam. When hurricane season brought 3 weeks of rain we moved in with his widow half-sister. A hot bath and a bus pick-up on a tar road...both lives were idyllic.
Somehow I can't imagine you camping Garrison, but, then again, if I do imagine you camping I laugh hysterically, so that's a good way to start my day.
For my son’s sake, because he was interested in nature and outdoor exploring and camping, I became a Boy Scout leader. With much training, preparation, and participating in organized adventures and nature exploring we had our Klondike Weekend Adventure. Klondike is a mid-winter camping experience with the Boy Scouts in a truly frozen environment. Just getting the tent stakes securely into the frozen ground was a quest. Some stakes didn’t sink too well and needed large rocks or logs were needed to support the guy lines which wasn’t entirely by the regulations but it was all that could be done.
In further preparation for this weekend, the boys and leaders designed and constructed dogsleds to use during the competitions scheduled during the weekend against other troops who were participating in their own Klondike adventure. There were easily a hundred boys at Camp “D - A” in Metamora, Michigan. Luckily, there was plenty of snow on the ground to make dogsledding possible. We had no Huskies so the boys would take turns riding and pulling the sleds. On the hilly paths no pulling but sliding was all that was needed. Needless to say, the boys had a great time even though we were half frozen. Precautions against frostbite were taken and an indoor warmup building was available. Funny was had by all.
This adventure happened almost forty years ago, and it’s still brought up in family and friend gatherings today. I wasn’t planning to relive my boyhood scouting adventures when I became an adult and father but it's funny how when a door opens in life it is always a good idea to step through it. Take the time, have the courage, and go forward.
Hi, Former Camp Counselor! I was a camp counselor, too, for almost ten summers, if you count CIT - Counselor In Training. Among our many "outings", there one that casts a singular shadow in my memory book. - yet it was the "outing" closest to home base! It was a "first run", beginner's paddle down the Moose River that flowed a short portage from our base camp. We let in near Old Forge in the Adirondacks, paddled through a cattail swamp that was way over our sight range as we knelt in our canoes, and felt relieved when we could actually could look out over the landscape. We paddled so quickly, our counselors decided that they didn't want us to end up eating our carefully packed lunch in our camp unit's kitchen space. They spotted a place we could pull our canoes in and "picnic." There had been some shellfish, freshwater mussels, which the other counselors had thought would be a great idea to try. Over a small fire they boiled the mussels and suggested that we "try something new!" My New England parent had tried to make a Connecticut Yankee our of me by trying to force me to eat clams, oysters, even lobster. " Look at all the money we spent on these delicacies" I'd hear. "A hamburger for me, please," was all I'd reply. I walked away from the "feast" and studied the whirlpools that eddied at the river's bend instead.
On the way again, flipped our canoes over our heads and portaged, stepping carefully between the ties back to our small pond. After paddling across, We racked the canoes, hiked up to our unit, and went "FOBIT"- Flat on Back in Tent. It wasn't half an hour before our counselors began making hurried rounds to girls who were throwing up, here, there and everywhere. Even the counselors couldn't hold back. Soon, everyone in the unit went first to the Infirmary, then to the emergency room in Old Forge.
Everyone except me! As a result - I was the only member of that group that didn't spend the rest of their camping session in bed! It turned out there was a sewage disposal outlet 500 yards upstream of where we had harvested the mussels. Everyone else had caught water-borne typhoid fever from the shellfish.
As you said about Minnesota versus strip clubs by a condo - sometimes the less " Exotic" choices are really better, thanks to their proven stability!
Ahh Garrison, I love you man. But not to know the delights of downhill (and cross country )skiing and camping - especially in the American Southwest with its surreal light - makes me a bit sad for anyone who feels that way. On the Western Slope of Colorado where I live both activities take place in wild places with no cell phone/internet access. I get some of my best writing done on extended camping/hiking trips with no distractions. I suspect in addition to a lack of modern tech sleeping bags you also never knew the delights of a gel pack portable toilets or delicious food in pouches prepared in a few minutes with. boiling water. Add a 3" sleeping pad and you'll never sleep better. Don't get me wrong - I'm always glad to return home to a shower and internet. But it's the best of both worlds situation, IMO. Keep up the good work, I look forward to the next book.
I want to be convinced but I'm 80 years old and as Popeye said, "I yam what I yam."