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July 25, 2007
Back from Ohio
Over days and weeks ahead there will be more stories and photos of our time in Alaska. For now, I will say that we are back from Ohio and trying to get things back in order again. It is hot here in Maryland, and hotter still in this hayloft home of ours. I baked my jade plant into a kind of crispy sadness while we are gone. Restoring it to health is one of the many projects at hand.
On our way out of town last Thursday night we stopped to visit friends Christian and Emily and took the occasion to bestow gifts from Alaska. I put one gift in each hand and let Emily choose a hand. At first, she chose poorly.
Given another opportunity she chose better.
Though I do think Christian would make a mean "Bad Girl".
We spent a restful night in their swank new abode and after eating a healthy breakfast of gummi bears, hit the road the next morning.
We went to Ohio to spend some time with distant branches of the family tree, most of whom I had not seen since I was very small. Which means they missed the angst-ridden teen years when I got fat, had really bad hair, and joined a bowling league. My great-aunt Susie kept lamenting that I had transformed so dramatically from the "little tow-headed boy" I used to be. I had shocking blond/white hair as a child.
Here is where we spent the weekend: Crockett's run, near Athens, Ohio, about one hour south of Columbus. Crockett's run is a collection of cabins of various sizes, each named after a different enterprising frontiersman.
On the way to Southern Ohio, we drove through northern West Virginia, which involves a lot of hills. There was an enormous wooden map of the state on the wall of the rest stop. It caught my eye.
There was a pond with a paddleboat, a hot tub, and lush green lawns. We ate far too much, played a lot of cards, and caught up on two decades of life. There were a lot of people and not many beds. Consequently, our accommodations were not grand.
For those of you who are Idiots'Books subscribers, you had the opportunity to read an essay by my grandmother, Mary Swanson, reflecting on Understanding Traffic. Here is that good woman in her "Bear Naked Chef" apron, her birthday gift, purchased in the King Salmon airport.
Not only is my grandmother the type of old lady who will gladly wear a "Bear Naked Chef" apron, but she would likely have appreciated a "Bad Girls of the North" t-shirt as well. She is a self-proclaimed eccentric who revels in the opportunity to be old and free. Her mantra is the poem, "When I Am an Old Woman, I Will Wear Purple." You can read it by clicking here.
There are a number of interesting rock formations in Southern Ohio, which provide occasion for gatherings of people, tourists and locals alike. Being tourists, we were compelled to visit one such local wonder, Old Man's Cave, of which Robbi had previously heard from her Ohio-native friend Whitney. Upon arriving at the Old Man's Cave parking lot, we were compelled to test the safety release lever that the woman at the rental car counter had pointed out to my dad. I volunteered to be the guinea pig. I got in the trunk.
It was roomy, comfortable even. But glaring like a beacon in the darkness was the safety release lever. I pulled it and the trunk sprung open, the glaring light of day spoiling the dark tranquility of the trunk.
My uncle, jealous of the fun that I had had, decided to try the drill himself. He was successful in escaping the trunk, but somehow cut his hand. Sobered by the potential for further injury, we decided to proceed to the cave.
The caves of southern Ohio are not true caves but hollows in rocks with enormous overhangs above them. They are like the openings in which the pueblos of Mesa Verde are built, only in Southern Ohio and without pueblos. There are many smaller formations, but here is the biggie, the Old Man himself.
We wandered around in the woods for a bit. There were many paths. At one point Robbi stopped to pose for this picture, which will be March, I believe, in the 2008 Robbi Behr Poses in the Woodlands calendar.
Among the weekend's many highlights were the blueberry pancakes made by Robbi and Caitlin, to whom I am not related, but to whom I could be some day, on account of her mom Bonnie's being "involved" with my great uncle Wayne.
Undoubtedly the most important discovery of the weekend was learning a new game: lasso golf. Perhaps you have heard of this fine pastime. I had not. The basic framework is similar to that of horseshoes. Two teams of two people each, projectiles thrown toward a target across the way. The projectile is an odd contraption consisting of two balls connected by a length of string. The balls are thrown or slung toward a series of three horizontal bars, each with a different point value.
In this photo of my father, the balls are sailing through the air.
The trick is to get the balls to hang over one of the bars, thus winning the number of points written on the bar.
There are, of course, many rules and twists and possibilities for excitement or delight that would bore you to hear but delight you to encounter head-on. So please, get a set for yourself and go play with the most entertaining people you know.
One of the best things about lasso golf is coming up with better names than lasso golf. Those of us playing came up with many possibilities, but none was more delightful or appropriate than "testicle toss."
Of course the real highlight was connecting with family after years and years. Who knows why we haven't all gotten together in so long. Families are bizarre entities, but wonderfully so.
In parting, tonight, I leave you with an image of the shoreline of the land across the water from Anchorage, which sits on a river much like the one along which we fish. Robbi took this picture as we landed. I've never seen mud look so pretty.
Posted by bogenamp at July 25, 2007 12:47 AM