Mud!

Tried to take a van into town today, was planning on running the five miles back to camp, but sadly weather conditions did not cooperate. It rained a lot more than I had realized last night, and dry dusty roads were transformed into nightmares of brown puddles and deep mud. I was piloting the van with all of the skill and excellence one might expect from the talented pillar of glory that is David Dentinger, when I came around a corner and observed Abigail Johnston (her backstory will be unveiled in an upcoming entry) spinning the wheels of the camp's F350. Her difficulties in the four wheel drive truck crippled my confidence in my driving arts, so I made a speedy retreat back to camp, although I will say the quarter mile of driving in reverse on island roads was a very nice piece of vehicle operation. If you'd seen it you would have been impressed. The van had been meant to transport a new crew of volunteers and some staff returning from time off, including the infamous womanizer Jimmy Kirkham, but the depth of mud proved too much for even the F350. And so it was that Becky summoned a shoreboat and saved the day.

Also I watched Season of the Witch. Was not impressed.

Gunfight at Upper Boys Camp Field

So this weekend the site manager's son Tommy Kern had some friends over and they had spent the afternoon running around engaging in a lengthy cycle of spraying airsoft pellets at each other and pausing behind cover for the arduous reloading process. My roommate Phillip and I were walking by and immediately came under heavy fire from the guns of the renegade children, and had to make a rapid tactical retreat to our cabin, as we ran screaming back to the porch of Riptide, we noticed that a whole bunch of student volunteers were standing around gawking at something, and we halted, panting heavily and stared out across the field toward the High Ropes course to find a bison grazing. Not wanting to spook the beast we took a moment to caution children and college students alike from approaching much closer, and it was then that Tommy's mother, Holly Kern, arrived on the scene. Clad in her foul weather gear and a beanie, and with both hands in her front jacket pockets, she strode up quietly and stepped into the circle of her son, his three friends, and myself. I didn't take note of the fact that she wasn't saying much or even that she wore a pair of yellow safety glasses, but drew forth her hands and revealed her twin airsoft pistols, her murderous intent became explicitly obvious. I ducked and ran for cover, knowing that a duel of stunning ferocity was about to ensue, and I was not to be disappointed, for within moments, the sounds and screams of a pitched airsoft skirmish filled the air.