Hippies and Hillbillies Part II

For those of you who were almost lulled into a comatose state by my last post, I will try to wrap it simply. Short and sweet. But just in case, maybe you should set aside a small chunk of time and maybe get some popcorn before you start.

So... in addition to the nylon suburbia and gun-shooting rednecks, there were also some campers on the other end of the spectrum. While looking for the end of a downhill bike trail we discovered a... commune?... of rather peaceful folk. There were probably ten or so of them sitting around the campfire... in the middle of the day. They had a small wall of fire wood, making it obvious that they may be there for a while. They were listening to some sort of chanting music and their faces were painted! Only one camper had full-face paint, the rest just had some beautification here and there. Nice people, but you had to ask yourself... is all that smoke coming from the campfire?

The last type of camper, the category we find ourselves in, is the green camper. When we moved into our campsite the first thing the boys did was pick up all the trash in the area. We had such a great time enjoying being outside. On Friday we started the day by exploring the cave. Now I have known for a while that I suffer from at least mild clostrophobia, but I have never tested my fear on any truly enclosed space. When we got to the entrance of the cave there were lots of people already there, standing around outside of the entrance. We turned on our headlamps and headed, not into a wide entrance to a cavern, but into a closet-door-sized hole in the wall. Apparently I had some misconceptions as to what caving would be like. There were not vast caverns, no stalagtites or mites, only a hallway-sized tomb that was packed full of families with small children. RUN!!!! I managed to contain my hyperventilation (though not my tears, yes, I am a wuss), and made it through about half the cave before Riley finally brought me to my senses and escorted me out. He took me out then requested permission to reenter the cave, so I then proceded to sit on the hill above the cave watching people go in and out for about forty-five minutes. I am proud to say, and a little envious, that they did not come out the entrance like everyone else, they had crawled all the way through and shimmied out the exit and came walking down the trail covered in mud, to the excitement of everyone sitting there. My day got better after lunch when we went on a hike and then settled in for the night. This was, of course, the hellish night of noise and booze, but we laugh about it now. I regained some of my studliness the next day when I road the rock-infested mountain bike trail.

All in all, a very satisfying trip. We had some laughs, got some exercise, and I even learned a little bit about myself. By the way, on our way out of the park we stopped to take a picture in front of the cave, and Riley handed me his headlamp and told me to just step in and see if I could conquer a little of my fear. I came out ten minutes later after going as far as I could inside the cave without having to crawl. There may be hope for me yet.

Hippies and Hillbillies

I am newly returned from my weekend sojourn and feel much better now that I am clean, though my legs are completely covered in chigger bites. For those of you who have never experienced a chigger, like perhaps you live in a desert, you have not felt an itch until you have had a colony of microscopic bugs devour your exposed skin (or sometimes your not-so-exposed skin). Our weekend was full of many memorable experiences, some of which I will try to share by describing different ways that people camp.

At one end of the spectrum you have those campers who really don't understand the point of camping. They have brought so much equipment and modern comforts with them that it takes their children a few hours to realize that they are not at home. These are the people who like to camp in the spots that are just a few feet from the people in the next site over. It's like someone created suburbia outdoors and used nylon instead of brick. They have brought the barbeque, the air mattresses, the kids' bikes; I even saw a few small trailers that were lined with shelves on the inside so that they could bring the entire contents of their pantry!!! Most of these people receive a roll of the eyes and a sigh that says "they just don't get it". However, some of these people can just be rude.

This leads me to the second group of campers. This group may not bring as many modern conveniences, but they make up for it with their thoughtlessness for the environment. Let me give you a few examples. We frequently drove past a friendly-looking suburban family who had set up camp right by the bathroom (talk about the smell of the great outdoors). They have the portable pantry/trailer and quite an elaborate site. We just shook our heads at them every time we passed until the last day, when we saw that someone had paintballed the side of the bathroom! Really?!? I know I am jumping to conclusions, but why would you give your kid a paintball gun while you are camping?!? The other example of this came our second night there. Let me backtrack a little. When we arrived at Devil's Den State Park in Arkansas on Thursday we were told that the campgrounds were booked to capacity for Friday and Saturday nights, so we could camp there Thursday, but we would have to relocate for Friday. They told us about a camping area just outside of the State Park boundry that we could try though they couldn't guarantee what kind of company we would find ourselves in there. So we thanked the nice ranger and headed to said campground: Cedar Flats (kind of like the Narrows in Gotham City?). The area was very conducive to camping and we found ourselves a spot that, after cleaning up quite a bit of trash, suited us quite nicely. Our neighbors seemed normal, except for the gunshots but I will get to that momentarily, and our first night was enjoyable. The second night was not so kind. A little after dark some new campers rolled in and settled a little farther into the woods. One group consisted of two father-son pairs who made a nice fire then turned in early. We liked them. Then the music started. At first it was kind of funny because it went from 80's rock to country to techno, but then it started to get old. We surmised that it must be someone's car stereo and we prayed that God's wrath would strike quickly and drain the car battery. We fantasized about our musical friends coming to ask for a jump the next day since they drained their battery the night before and laughing in their faces. As the night wore on and the bass only got louder, our amusement turned to wrath. How dare they ruin our camping trip! How will we sleep? Why come into nature if you are just going to bring the noise of home with you?!? You just enjoy sleeping on the ground? Riley decided to go ask them to turn it down and I joined, though I feared for our safety. What kind of people could they be? Dumb teenagers who came out here to drink? Someone violently drunk who will beat us senseless for asking that they end their party? Nope. A family with multiple children. We asked nicely (though the annoyed couple who came with us to storm the castle were slightly less polite) and they obliged, kind of. BUT THE NOISE DIDN'T STOP!!! I finally wussed out and decided that unconsciousness was preferrable to a tense situation and went to bed (typical). In the morning I discovered that Riley and Eric (we camped with him and his wife Kristy) had gone in search of the noise again and had discovered the offending sound was coming from a new campsite that was inhabited by some 16-year-old guys and their giggly girlfriends. Our boys puffed up their chests and sent the younglings scurrying for the volume control. End of problem.

The next category of camper is the Redneck/Hillbilly. When we moved into "The Flats" we found ourselves next to a large camp of... hunters? It was a large contingent of males who could easily have been there for days, weeks, months, years? (insert Friends themesong :). They had a rather sizeable community of tents and camping equipment and plenty of firearms, which they tested constantly. For those of you who know me, I hate loud noises, I just about pee my pants every time. The smaller guns weren't bad, but the shotgun was a little ridiculous. And they weren't even shooting AT anything!!! Seriously, bullets don't just grow on trees. Nothing like being awakened first thing in the morning to gunfire. The other redneck group pulled in the second day with three 4-wheelers, 2 dirt bikes, 1 beat-up truck on a trailer...and maybe a partrige in a pear tree. They then amused themselves by taking all of these vehicles out into the forrest. They almost ran us over as me rode our bikes peacefully down the dirt road. Who races down a dirt road on ATV's past people on BICYCLES?!? We thought we had seen the last of them when they packed up, but they returned after dark to set up camp and drink themselves silly. We listened to them talk about how drunk they were and play "I've never" until the wee hours of the morning (once the loud music finally went away). It was quite funny the next morning when we went by their campsite and saw the ground littered with bottles of Mike's Hard Lemonade and Bud Lite with Lime. Is it even possible to get drunk from something with such a low alcohol content? What studs!

To be continued...

-Ang

Hi, my name is Karen and I'm a mother of 23.

So this past week has been parent-teacher conference week and I am on my last legs. Before actually having to do them, I never realized how incredibly exhausting they are! Having 23 conferences requires knowing tiny details about each child as if they were your only student. It requires quick thinking and wise word choice when there are some especially difficult parents. It requires coming up with creative compliments to soften the blow of a bad report card. (Your child is failing everything, but he/she certainly has wonderful handwriting....?) It takes all of that, TIMES 23!!

But really, it is emotionally and spiritually draining more than anything else. I've got kids who's parents are in jail, are workaholics, are alcoholics, have restraining orders, and who simply don't give a crap. I go home every night thinking about how I might have been the only positive influence in their lives that day, that week, that month, maybe even that year. (insert Friends theme song here) It makes me think twice about those words that I may have spoken too harshly, or that story that I didn't listen to because I thought there were more important things to do. A teacher's job is not just a job. It's a calling. Why God decided I would be a good fit for this calling is beyond me, but I know one thing....I've been blessed more than anyone can know by each of their precious faces and I wouldn't trade it for the world.


Enjoy your break Ang!!
-Kare

The Great Outdoors... Brrr

Man's oldest question: What is the meaning of life?
Man's second-oldest question: What to do with a 4-day weekend?
If you are my husband or any of his friends the answer is always right there in front of you: camping!!! I am about to embark on my second camping trip in a week and a half and I am... excited... but also bracing myself for the numbing cold. For some reason God saw fit to give me an internal body temperature of about 60 degrees, so I start pulling out the hoodies at a balmy 85. This week a cold front hit the Oklahoma area and when I came home from school yesterday our thermostat registered in at a whopping 59. Time to turn on the heat. Anyhow... we are headed out to the wild blue yonder for two and a half days of camping, hiking, biking, caving... maybe that Indiana Jones thing will work out after all. And yet the biggest worry in my mind is: what am I going to do when my hair gets oily? Seriously, 24 hours and my head is down for the count. And will there be bathrooms? I can squat with the best but not when you can feel the frost on the ground with your backside. Oh well, here's to adventure! We'll see how it goes. Have a good weekend Kare!

-Ang

The Pressure of the First Blog...

How to even begin...of course my lovely partner in crime here has to start off with a bang and be witty and clever her very first post. (Way to go Ang...) No pressure to match her well thought out connections and metaphors for the life and times of a teacher. Alas, I have no insightful metaphors at the moment, no humorous anecdotes. Just a tired brain at the end of a week of parent-teacher conferences. So, I guess thats it. At least I can say I lost my proverbial blogging virginity right? However, I gotta tell you...it's really wasn't as great as they all say.
But practice makes perfect yeah? :)

-Kare
ps. I need a sick Halloween costume for our 10/31 dance party. Any suggestions??

Double Life

Over the past two days I have found myself enjoying the newest Indiana Jones flick... twice.  It occurs to me that the famous Indiana Jones, the captain of adventure himself, has a lot in common with yours truly.  He is ("part time")... a teacher!!!  I regret to say that the similarities end there.  I don't understand any dead languages (though I'm conversational in at least one non-useful language), I would be terrible in a fist fight (I'm a "walk, talk, or rock" kind of gal), and if I was ever handed a whip I would never even touch it for fear it would make that loud cracking sound.  Maybe if I could just have his hat, that seems to be the source of his power.  I could wake up every weekday morning, go to school, teach kids the difference between a simple subject and a complete subject, try to entice them into learning about why Columbus sailed the ocean blue, assure them that walking in a quiet line is a life skill, and then on the weekends I just put on my khaki hat and the adventure begins.  But alas, I am just an ordinary teacher, no whip, no upper body strength, and alas, no khaki hat.  

-Ang