Camping – meh.

I lived through my camping experience. It wasn’t so bad. I got almost an entire chapter written, so that was great. I didn’t find Bigfoot, so that sucked. The people who camped opposite us at the camp ground had a cat in a harness, so that was awesome. More on that later. No mama bears left me their cubs for safekeeping, so that was disappointing. Even though I never left the shade of our trailer’s awning, I still managed a sunburn, so that blew. I did see a herd of white tail deer, and that was nifty.

All in all I think things evened out.

Our little group was fairly large–13 of us in all–with another group of 5 hanging out for one day. We are all family and/or long time friends. That would also imply that we’re loud, funny and sarcastic. I just want to set the tone for you, dear readers.

This is Peko. It’s pronounced like pickle but without the “l”.  This name confusion caused a great deal of deliberation at the campsite. I’m not completely convinced that we ever resolved the issue completely. I am positive I’m right, though, because I told the woman when I took the kitty’s picture that he was going on my blog and I needed accurate information. Part of the problem could be that Pickle is a funny name for a cat. Peko not so much. This was a funny cat and he deserved a funny name. What made him a novelty was the simple fact that he was a cat. There are nine thousand and seven dogs at a camp ground. There was only one cat. He thoroughly enjoyed his walks around the place. What I think he especially enjoyed was riling the dogs all up into a frenzy.

I did have an exquisitely bizarre conversation with my father as we left to go camping. Remember, he had a stroke several years ago and now he lives with my brother full-time. Sometimes things can get a little strange–conversations can go off the rails. Honestly, you never know what to expect.

“Hey,” he said as we were getting ready to head out the door Friday morning. “Do you have any rancid meat in the house?”

I squinched up my eyebrows and sniffed the air. “No.”

“You don’t have any chicken parts lying around?” He must have read my bemused look correctly because he added helpfully, “Maybe some gizzards?”

“No.”

“Really? No rancid meat in the refrigerator?”

“What the hell, old man? Why would I have that?”

He shrugged. I finally deduced that he was looking for catfish bait. He proceeded to ask every single person at our camp site if they had rancid meat they were willing to share. The problem with that was he didn’t explain why he wanted it. I swear I should send him around with a manual for making sense.

I have some concerns here and I’ll lay them out for you.

1. I don’t think I want to ever eat catfish again if they are that enticed by rancid meat. Ick. I knew they were bottom feeders, but that’s a little too graphic for me.

2. What the hell is going on in my brother’s kitchen?