I'm sitting in the library staring at a book-type-publication called Leaving Ontario: Sources for Tracking Ontario Migrants. I can't help but wonder--how many Ontario migrants are there, really? So many that they need a dedicated magazine to help track them? Surely not. Wouldn't it be more useful to have a magazine called Tracking Black Bears and the Idiots Who Hunt Them? Or How to Rid the World of the Mosquito? I would buy that magazine.
Really I'm just sitting here because I wrote out my entire blog post last night in a notebook and forgot said notebook in the cabin. Of course.
Stacey and I have a list about a mile long of things we have to do before our parents get here on Saturday. Most of these things involve cleaning. You'd be surprised how disastrous a cabin, boat, and car can become when housing two people and three dogs. Disgusting. I realized we are living in sub-par conditions when I picked a sock up off the floor and found it was covered in dog hair and what looked like a dead spider.
Yesterday was pretty awesome. We went to Scarfe Lake with a good portion of the Smith gang. By the time we left, my abs were sore from laughing so hard. I'm saving one of the stories for later because that's the one I wrote down already, but there are several other choice occurrences.
"Stephanie finds log--decides to make birdhouse"
Okay. I have wanted one of those homemade driftwood birdhouses pretty much ever since I first saw one at the farmer's market in Birmingham. My parents have one in the backyard and I have birdhouse-envy every time I see it. I spotted the perfect piece of driftwood log as we were pulling the boat next to the waterfall to hike up to the lake just above. I KNEW it would be perfect.
One of Rich's friends, Cleary (sp?), came to my rescue and beasted the log into the boat so that we could take it back to the cabin. Stacey, spotting a slug on the log (which was about 7 feet long, though I only wanted the bottom part with the cool-looking root system), insisted that I first cut off the excessive top part and just keep the bottom. Cleary hefted the log back out of the boat and put it on shore, where I commenced my attempt to saw it with a fold-out serrated knife. I wouldn't really put that knife in the same category as a saw.
I had been working away at this log for about 20 minutes when I thought, surely, it was enough to be able to break the log if I put it on a rock and jumped on it. Umm, no. Not even close. Didn't even hear the slightest cracking noise. I sawed my way around the sides some more and then Nick retrieved what looked like an ancient battle-axe that has been rusting away in the woods for probably 50 years. It was terrifying in its rusted destructiveness. He swung the axe up and brought it down on the log, making almost no dent in it, but chipping away the top layer of wood. It wasn't for lack of effort that his hit was ineffectual, but because the edge of the blade was so rusted and worn that the axe was reduced to a bludgeoning rod of death. I felt slightly closer to death standing next to that axe than I would in a greenhouse full of Venomous Tentaculas.
Seeing that the axe was ineffectual for cutting but extremely good at destroying, I yelled for him to stop and returned to my slightly less futile sawing method. 10 minutes later and I had a blister on my thumb the size of China and little progress on the log. Cleary came over and we decided it would be a great idea to throw the log onto a boulder at the cutting point to try to break it. Sooo not working. By this point, it was a matter of principle. I could not let it go. I was so physically tired that I couldn't saw with just my arms any more. I locked them at 90 degrees and resorted to rocking my entire body back and forth to try to make some headway. Which now, I realize, may have contributed to the stabbing pain in my ankle I experienced today on my morning run. The stupid log is in front of our cabin now and awaiting the end of its days.
Side note: a hack saw (for metal) is also ineffectual when trying to separate wood from itself.
Stacey to add her own commentary later from a spectator's POV.
"Stephanie Stupidly Voices Fear of Leeches"
We hiked up the waterfall to the lake above, which was gorgeous. The only thing that was making me wary of jumping right in was that it looked a lot like Clear Lake. Clear Lake has an abundance of leeches. I do not enjoy the company of leeches. In fact, I rank them right up there with Great White Sharks. I have tried to determine whether or not this is actually a phobia, because it has stopped me from getting in certain bodies of water before, technically interfering with my daily life, which is one of the generally accepted definitions of a phobia. If anyone reading this has a PhD in psychology, maybe we can talk.
After waiting for several other people to literally test the waters (including the Smith boys who are virtual leech-catching magnets), I decided it was safe and jumped in. We swam around and had a great time playing keep away with the last can of beer, threw sticks for Rich's black lab, Hayley, and laughed at nothing in particular. When it was time to get out, I was extremely careful to not touch any of the rocks, possibly pulling a hamstring and rolling my ankle in the process, but I did NOT touch those rocks.
Now this is where I was stupid (well, one of the times). Walking down to the boat, I saw Erin and Stacey whisper something to each other while looking at me. I immediately checked my bathing suit, thinking that something had accidentally shifted in the water. Nope. The girls were still covered. "What?" I asked. "Is it my hair?" That was obviously the next thing on my mind.
They said it wasn't me and we kept walking until not 30 seconds later Erin pointed to my back and said, "Um, actually I think there is something on your back." Erin's acting skills are top notch. Erin is a bi-otch.
"Get it off!" I said, not too panicky yet. Instead of reaching over to flick it off, Erin backed up with a horrified look. That is when I panicked. Irrational fear took over and my mind was just a chaotic mess filled with images of a leech on my back. I morphed into crazy Stephanie and began dancing around, screeching and yelling for someone to get it the hell off of me, prompting Hayden to remind me that I owed 10 pushups for cussing (Hayden is 6). I told him to get over here and make sure there was nothing on my back, so he came over and in his haste and my jumping around, he accidentally untied my bathing suit.
I have to preface this with the fact that Hayden and Jake are the most adorable, most well-behaved and well-intentioned kids I have ever met. The 23-27 year old crew burst out laughing and taunting and Hayden was mortified. Oh, and I felt like an idiot for falling into that leech trap. I also fell for it one more time on the way out of the lake. Seriously. Do not joke about leeches. I thought everyone knew that rule.
No comments:
Post a Comment