If you want to be responsible for taking young people on camping trips with a certain organization, you have to complete a survival course. 

Ya’ll, I survived.

It wasn’t hardcore but it was pretty rough. Lemme break it down into asterisks.

*Two nights in pre-Sandy weather.

*Sleeping in Tabins. Not a typo. Tents + cabins = tabins. My personal definition: The flimsy, water seeping nylon of a tent combined with the slatted wood floors of a cabin. To allow chilly air to seep up under your mesh cot and also through the un-close-able screen windows to fully cocoon you in brrrrr. 

*Cooking meals on a fire.

Fires that we had to make ourselves in order to pass. 
Here’s mine. 
<-----------------
It’s like I birthed that fire- I’m proud of it. I'm gonna frame this sucker.


*Knot tying. Enough said. 

*Putting up tents at midnight. Pup tents. The horror. Then taking them down. Because we were just practicing outdoor survival skills. We actually slept in the tabins.

*In depth, instructor-led discussion of the pros and cons of different types of sleeping bags- mummy vs rectangular. Down vs synthetic fill. Temperature rating vs comfort rating. Size vs shape. Weight vs Need. The outcome of each battle was a draw. No one won. Not in a tabin. 

*Using Dutch ovens, mountain pie makers, and surprise pouches. No jokes, please. Those are actual camping things. Oh, okay. Insert joke here: _______________________.

**Disclaimer: 

Gregorific strives to avoid being negativistic. 
Therefore, let me dwell on the positives of this survival experience. To the right here, ----------------->
we have the bathhouses. I was deeply grateful for the flushable toilets, the lights by which to see the flushable toilets, and for the running water to wash our hands after using the flushable toilets. It was a real camping luxury. (Now, it was a bit of a hike to get to this bathhouse- but totally worth it. Did I mention flushable?) 

<-----------------This mushroom took my breath away. Not because I smoked it but because of it's perfect ten beauty.

<-----------------When I saw the camp site's name, I had to laugh. Every time. 

Yes, we had a Kaper chart. The time my clothespin fell on the grace duty I was stoked. This allowed me the minutes I needed to borrow the only cell phone that got a signal, run out to the flagpole (a half mile, but the only place the one cell phone got service) to make an S.O.S. call to Mr. Gregorific.  I was not exactly prepared for the seriousness of this survival course. I had to request delivery of one hundred more layers of clothing and water. (Gregorific could not bear to drink boiled stream water or tablet sterilized 'camp' water.)
You will be happy to know he did deliver these items. (And more. Namely, he added a box of granola bars. The box did not last longer than the half mile walk back to camp. He also included plenty of sympathy, which I clearly meta asked for.) 

<-----------------This bubbling brook always brought a smile to my face as I passed it on the way in to our camp site. Nature is what you make of it. Huh. 

Another knock-your-socks-off beautiful mushroom. 

I could go on but I’m sleep deprived, probably insect infested, and above all, recovering from severe homesickness. Gregorific functions best in a controlled environment.

I have no clue how the gregorific crew managed without my fearless leadership and clever commentary. They seemed perfectly gregorific when I returned and one had even warmed my bed for me.

On the bright side, at least now I can put up a Timberline, tie a taut line hitch, and best of all, never have to take the course again.

I survived survival training,
~gregorific

Plaguerator

Gregorific has found vengeance. Yes, it took time and effort but revenge was oh, so sweet.

It began during the time of the plagues. My crew and I were on our way to the monkey bars. This is not a metaphor- we were walking up the path to the playground where we were going to bust some monkey bar moves up in heya. I should mention that my crew is made up of my dog and children. We walk on this path all the time. 

I paused to deadhead a marigold. I like to crush it between my fingers and then inhale the fresh scent of decay. I heard a raw, frightened scream. I flew to my youngest crew member- my baby!

A yellow jacket had stung her on her hand. I scooped her up and ran her home. During the short run, the other crew members filled me in on the horrific details.

A bee stung her.

Those are the gory details. But in the moment, it felt like a lot of questioning had to happen. What did the bee look like? (A bee! Duh!) What were you doing? (Stop blaming the victim!) Did you kill it? (No! It tried to kill me!) Is the stinger still in? (How would I knowwwww?) 

The swelling began, the medications were given, observation period began, mucho television was watched. It seemed necessary. The story continued for the smallest crew member who, it turns out, is allergic to bees. But that is her story. Our storyline forks and follows the damned bees.

No one messes with my crew.

I did a bit of research on how to safely exterminate a large amount of bees. I examined the path and found a nest. It looked like it was in the lower branches of the arbor tree. I put the word out to my awesome connections that I had a ‘situation’ that needed to be handled.

I got a name. I got a number. I called and put in the hit.

The next day Benny the Bee-man arrived. This guy is famous and worth a reality TV show- no doubt. He will come -for free- and remove your bee nest completely. Here’s how he does it:

He freezes the bees.

He vacuums them  up.

He sells the venom to a company developing a serum for bee allergies. 

This took him an hour. Then he drove off. (I imagine they milk the venom out of the little bee butts,  right?) And now the path is bee free. I only had time to ask him two questions. Although I really should request an interview and a ride along.

Do you get stung a lot? YES, he said.

What does your day look like? He told me he got five nests in town that morning and was off after this to get a couple more in the countryside.

That’s a lot of bee venom!

Later, I saw a bunch of bees writhing on the ground near the path. They were semi-conscious. I crushed some under my shoe and actually got the queen- she was a big momma. It gave me a lot of pleasure. So much that the guilt set in and I left them alone. Until later that night. Mr. Gregorific wondered aloud if the bees would reanimate (unfreeze) and rebuild.

I freaked.
 
The next morning –early- I went out with my broom and a tin foil box. I swept those suckers up. Some were still twitching. It was then that I realized gregorific fans would want to know. So I took this picture. 

Later in that day, a random good Samaritan animal dug  up the rest of the hive. 

Here’s the path now. Peaceful, right?

Thanks Bee-man,

~gregorific

Malodorific

I’m easily influenced. I’ll cry driving by a wedding and I’ll get furious at a commercial. When I read some convincing articles and studies on deodorant being full of harmful ingredients, (especially for women, since they shave their underarms) then I stopped using deodorant.

Ya’ll, it’s good and bad- as most things are.

I’ll live longer by avoiding toxic ingredients.

But I’ll stink.

So in theory you’ll have me and my big stink for as long as possible.

Major life existential quandary: Quality or Quantity?

Short and sweet or long and reek?  {Whoa, don’t go there.} 

Postscript: People, I know. I know. I have tried many organic deodorants including all my favorite brands and even a crystal that I paid mega money for- and they all mask at best. At worst, they mingle with my glorious odor and produce a truly toxic combo, which I am sure causes negative effects on the olfactory senses of those around me.  I am fortunate to be surrounded by people who do not mention it- to my face.

Proposing a study on it,

~gregorific