Whoever in the comments corrected me on the name of the camp destination: You were right. It’s Bloody Gorge, not Gulch. Evidently I’m the last to know. When Kate and Alan pulled up to the house after he picked her up at day camp, she caroled out to a neighbor, “We went to Bloody Gorge!” Another neighbor, my age or older, called back, “I went to Bloody Gorge at day camp, too!”
I told you this camp has a history.
The trip to Bloody Gorge — which seemed to involve wading, in socks, shoes and clothing, into water to the knees — was a huge success. Kate was dirty in the way that only kids who have truly played themselves to exhaustion can be dirty. I mean: She was coated with grime. I’m washing her clothes now, stained brown to their very warp.
What a great day camp. If I left her in it all summer, she’d be truly feral by Labor Day. But happy.
Oh, well. I don’t want to get all Lileks on you here. I’m just casting about for material, and hey, look, there’s a kid in the house. Maybe this blog is finding a new theme. Chapter 1: Daily Life with Links; Chapter 2: Re-invention; Chapter 3: Whatever Comes Next. In these mild days before Whatever Comes Next, some linkage:
One of our most interesting KWF seminar speakers last year was Republican pollster Bob Teeter, who died this week. During his introduction, he mentioned he had a place on Coldwater Lake, where our little cottage is. Alan says he recognized him from the water and thought he sailed an E Scow. Hot boat. Too bad.
We lead their guys around on leashes, they cut our guys’ heads off — a look at beheading as a tool of terror, by the AP.
Another key-to-the-city type greeting to the returning sabbatical-takers: Welcome to the Fort! You’re just in time for the TB crisis!