It’s the first Monday of the New Year and I got nothin. It’s been cold and rainy and snowy and when the weather gets like that, I just want to hibernate somewhere. Earl, on the other hand, great white hunter that he is, went deer hunting. Not just hunting, but black powder hunting. So for those of you who aren’t familiar with “black powder hunting”, not only is the great white hunter sitting in the cold somewhere in a tent that is supposed to fool the deer into thinking he is part of the hardwood, but the hunter gets to load his own bullets. Just like back in the olden days before they had a camo tent to sit in and heated chairs with their cell phone to keep them company. I don’t know the correct language, the only thing I know is that it involves a pellet, a primer, and gun powder and putting them all into the part of the gun where it’s supposed to go. I’m sure you follow that.
Anyway, black powder season this year started the day after Christmas and lasted until January 5. Great White Hunter left on Friday and came back on Sunday. He stays in a ramshackle farmhouse on land that belongs to his son’s father-in-law. I know the place doesn’t have running water because he talks about having to use an outhouse. I think the only heat is from a potbellied stove. So far, it doesn’t sound like anything I would like any place I’d like to be. Especially with the outhouse.
I have a real aversion to outhouses. I was traumatized by an outhouse way back when I was in girl scout camp over fifty years ago, but some things you just don’t ever get over. I was never much of a camper and never went away for week-long Girl Scout camp like many of my friends. I don’t know if it was because we couldn’t afford it or I expressed that I didn’t want to go, but whatever the reason, I never went. I never felt like I had really missed anything, although an adult summer camp seems like a lot of fun and I think they include wine.)
Back to my traumatizing event. There were a number of things that played a part in this event; one, it was dark; two, I had to sit on a wooden board with a hole cut into it, and three, and this was the big one, there was a huge spider that had made his web in the corner of the outhouse near the door. I can still see this triangular web hanging in the doorway of the outhouse. How in the heck was I supposed to get into that dark, smelly, small wooden box while holding a flashlight, with a damn spider just waiting to leap out and attack me and not wet my pants? I knew I’d either fall into the great abyss of the toilet or out the door with my pants around my ankle while screaming hysterically and flailing my arms at the huge monster I was sure was going to eat me alive. Sigh. That wasn’t the first nor was it anywhere close to being the last of many other traumatizing spider events in my life. Knowing this, my darling son gets the biggest kick out of sending me spider videos on social media. God love him. I may write him out of my will.
So, while Great White was out not bringing home the bacon (i.e. deer), I was warm and cozy spending the weekend with my favorite girls doing what I enjoy most.