war of the flies

whenever i am home at the same time as Ol' Red, i.e. grandad, Hunt, i like to mooch a breakfast or two. this summer has been especially rewarding, because in addition to the waffle, canteloupe, potatoes, ham, bacon, sweet potatoes, wild mushrooms, coffee, and milk (yes, this is all a single meal), it is huckleberry season! we've had huckleberries and cream, huckleberry pancakes, and homemade huckleberry preserves...mmmm...

well, visiting grandad is an exciting treat. after breakfast he'd discovered an infestation of houseflies in his living room. we later attributed it to his putting the trash in the fireplace for a later burning and forgetting that there was some food remains in there. but i digress....the real action came when we decided to declare an all-out war on the two dozen or so flies.

unfortunately, gramps had somehow melted his flyswat into something resembling modern art, so we went guerrilla. armed with three or four heavy-duty rubber bands, we came at 'em from all angles. gramps is a rubber band sniper. he used to be able to hit my uncle's earlobe from three pews back when he would fall asleep in sunday service. he can knock a quarter out of your fingertips. and if he's being a pest, you better cover your bum.

it was totally awesome. he would shoot and reload -- SPLAT "ah, ha!" he'd say, "i got that ol' bugger. ohhhh, there's another one." -SPLAT- "good riddance, you son-of-a-gun. oh, get 'em, Holly Annie. i think you got that one's leg, i'll finish him off." -SPLAT- "pull back that curtain." -SPLAT- "i think we done 'em in. oh, but now i've gotta clean all the windows!"

kill stats
gramps: 8 kills, 2 wounded
me: 1 kill, 2 wounded

descent

you know when you talk to people who climb things, they always refer to the actual climb of the said thing -- "i climbed Everest, i climbed the Sears Tower, i climbed a ladder, i climbed a tree." well, what they forgot to mention, is that they also probably descended those things, too, and it also probably sucked ass in a major way!

well today i fulfilled another Oregon "Not Dead Yet" Adventure by climbing Mt. Mcloughlin -- a 9,495-foot, million-year-old volcano that is about 30 miles from my parents' homestead. the actual hiking trail is 2 miles to the base of the mountain via the PCT and then the ascent involves making 4,000 vertical feet over 3.5 miles (in other words - straight up).

i've always wanted to climb Mt. M, partly because i can see it, and partly because very few people die there (as opposed to Mt. Shasta, which i can also see, but seems to have a tendency to kill people). so i somehow convinced my mom that we could do it, and we f*ing climbed the shit out of that mountain!!! straight-up, boulder-hopping, out-of-breath, jello-leg, climbing action. it was awesome. we even took Ray, my mom's semi-retarded new puppy, and he climbed, too! i made it to the true summit; mom and ray stopped about 500 ft. below because it was loose lava gravel that was pretty un-fun. don't get me wrong, this isn't a technical climb, but at the same time it was not easy, either. it was a real challenge. a fun challenge.

but then comes the real meal deal -- getting off the damn thing. the trail from the tree line to the summit was a total sham. there were so many foot tracks, so many marks, so many false leads. we spent at least 30 minutes on the wrong trail and had to shimmy across an unbelievably rockslide-friendly slope. it was sand dune-esque. we did find the actual trail after our brief detour, but still had 3 miles of rocky, downhill trail to contend with. going down is much, much more difficult than going up.

my feet are blistered, my neck is sore for looking down at my feet for hours, my knees ache, my quads are jelly, my hands are scratched from holding tight to lava boulders, and my entire body is covered in dust.

but mom and i did it. i almost cried when we got back to the car -- the whole "i just won Olympic Gold" sort of cry. the "holy crap i just climbed a volcano and didn't die" sort of cry. the "i will remember this forever and i am so happy it was with my super awesome mom who i love so much" sort of cry.

so, that was my sunday. now i'm going to take a shower, band-aid my blisters, and descend into bed.

identity crisis

so, i recently read a blog post of my friend erin, who is also on an American vacation and staying with her parents in Alabama. she mentioned that she feels like she is at home for college summer break. i totally get that, too.

it is so surreal -- living in my old bedroom in my old house, hanging out with my high school peeps, doing chores with mom and dad. dad referred to me by my maiden name and i did a double-take because at first it didn't seem odd.

last night my friends kimmy and tara came over for a BBQ and to challenge my mom and i to a rousing game of Monopoly - Electronic Edition. other than the half rack of BL that we tore through, it felt like second grade when tara and kimmy would come over for slumber parties and rousing games of Memory and Go Fish.

it is nice to be old enough to be comfortable being a kid again. i am not compelled to bar hop at the Howdy Doods Tavern or the Kaz-Hole. i don't want to socialize for the sake of. i just want to have slumber parties, play board games, and maybe stay up past bedtime. plus Bud Light, of course.

i only have a week until i'm off to see dan for the first time in six weeks, and i hope that i easily adjust to adulthood as i've adjusted to childhood here at home. but, just in case i'm packing my night light.

alfalfa in my underwear

i've been called frugal, cheap, a bargain hunter. i am certain that i got this thriftiness from my mom's side of the family, aptly called "the Hunts." some of us hunt soda cans whilst fiercely protecting our canning territory, solely for earning the 5 cent deposit; others fix, patch, mend, and jury rig using duct tape, wire, goo, and rope, solely to avoid buying something new; most will pick wild blackberries, mushrooms, and huckleberries; and i tend to scour the sale racks, bargain bins, and clearance caves. all of the Hunts do it. all are proud when we find an especially good deal. all of us brag and show off our latest finds.

today mom got an early morning tip of some broken alfalfa bales in the neighboring hay field. "they're turnin' the water on soon, so you better get after 'em now," said the friendly farmhand next door. alfalfa runs $10.50 per 110 lb. bale on the open market, but broken bales are worthless to the large-scale farm operation. mom was eager to haul in (see also "scavenge") whatever could be had. we fired up the diesel, packed up our pitchforks, and gleaned $100 worth of dairy-grade alfalfa from our two hours of effort.

i've got scratches, scrapes, dry eyes, and am itchy all over, but seeing the six-foot-high pile of goods in the barn gives me a sense of accomplishment that one normally wouldn't when referring to dead plants.

way to go, us. can't wait for the potato and onion harvest to start.

america the big

depart k-town, drive to boise, depart boise, drive to coeur d'alene, and tuesday, depart CD'A and drive back to k-town. in all it will be the equivalent of driving from brighton to the very tippy-top of scotland and back -- 750 miles each way, and i'll only hit three states!

the very best part is driving in north idaho and really, really having to pee and not being able to find a rest area. i cruised into Moscow and thought there would be a McD's for a McPee break, but i musta been on the wrong street. fifteen miles out of town and the situation was getting urgent. finally, i had to stop in some wheat field before i ruined my day and dad's truck seat, and sure enough, eight miles later was the first rest area in 290 miles. d'oh!

sad sap

i just spent the best weekend with my friends in boise. i am so lucky to have such fantastic peeps in my circle -- strong, independent women who can equally be happy for themselves, admirable and supportive of others, and able to share their insecurities and challenges openly. holy crap. it's like the secret life of the pabst blue ribbon sisterhood. talk about homesick!

not dead

if you were given the choice to spend 16 hours in the car with your parents (after having spent 14 days living with them) or to go on a five-hour drive on the back of a 600 lb. two-wheeled death machine piloted by an 82-year-old, nearly deaf, grandfather with pop bottle glasses in 90-degree weather whilst wearing an ill-fitting helmet, which would you choose?

i chose (b) and, by the power of greyskull, i'm still alive. i've always loved summer motorcycle trips with Ol' Red Hunt. maybe saying yes is my way of being in denial that he is, in fact, getting really old. maybe i should find a safer way to be in denial.

as an aside, i also took a plunge into the 55 degree water of the deepest lake in north america this weekend, crater lake itself, and didn't die there either. of course i jumped off a rock that was submerged and then almost hyperventilated because the water was like a fricking vice wrapped around my lungs. i think my friend cissy said my first words upon surfacing were something like "f-f-f-f-fucking c-c-c-cold" or similar.

well, i'm obviously making the most of my northwest vacation. back to scratching the hell out of the mosquito bites that cover most of my body. more later!