Creative Curse Manifestation

I'm convinced we're cursed. Every time we go camping, it's always OUR neighbors in the campground who came to party. I've checked, now nearly every camping trip, by taking a stroll through the campground. Quiet everywhere - you can hear the night birds and bugs, the wind in the trees, the snores of the child....except in our own campsite, because of the neighbors.

Usually, this curse manifests as a few couples playing music on the boombox, or just getting drunk and cutting loose. It's annoying, but ultimately forgettable.

This past weekend, on the other hand, was a REAL DOOZY. We arrived Friday evening and had a lovely night and morning. Did some touristing around the the campground as we'd never camped there before. It's WAY more high end than we're used to. Air-conditioned visitor's center, gift shop, museum AND grocery store. A-freaking-mazing. Took the easy path around the flat bits just to get a taste of the place.

We might have done more but for Don's injuries and sore foot, the nearly 100 degree heat, and our late start. Instead, we headed back to the campsite for lunch and did art projects in the shade. WAY fun. That afternoon, a large group of East Indians arrive and laboriously set up their tents and site, then take off. Later that evening, the fun begins.

Apparently, due their late arrival and the park's first-come first-served site reservation policy, their party is spread out across the campground in several sites. They decide to converge on the site next to ours. Over the next couple of hours, their group grows from about a dozen to over 30 people, eating drinking and carrying on. About mid-way through this, we leave to attend a special presentation at the campfire center on predatory birds - they have brought a kestrel, hawk and two owls!! Very cool.

I go looking for a ranger to complain to. No one is there, so we hope that they're out doing their rounds and have shut down the party while we're gone. No such luck. Even after we return, the cars keep arriving and parking on the access roads. I complain to them and they say they're going to shut down soon. Then, another car arrives. So, they're not shutting down anytime soon, the liars. The park's stated limit is two cars and eight people PER SITE. They are now at about 30-35 people and 5-6 cars. It's dark, so I can't be sure.

I'm ready to drive down to the park entrance to use the pay phone to call 911 to get a ranger out here, when, lo! and behold! - a ranger arrives. It appears that he's been called out to the park especially to respond to numerous complaints about their behavior. (Um, duh! Idiots.) He makes it clear that they're in serious violation of the camp rules and regulations and they need to shut down now. The guy whose site it is then has the nerve to attempt to negotiate with the ranger, which, of course, pretty much ticks him off. The ranger then says they're being cited, all the cars on the access road are being ticketed, and if he gets called again, they're being evicted. Whew!

The next day, the neighbors continually give us the evil eye. I'm guessing they think we're the ones who called out the ranger. Ironic that we may have been the only ones in the campground who DIDN'T.

On a side note, while we were walking around the day before, Gabe and I were looking for goodies to put in his collecting bag. Bits of lichen and moss, leaves, etc. The plan was to use them in various camping art projects. I was really hoping for some feathers! There are so many cantankerous blue jays out there I expected to find at least a couple of blue jay feathers. Well, not a one did we find.

However, the morning after the horrid neighbors debacle, I found one. I had been on that path several times as it ran between our site and the commode. Yet, Sunday morning, there it was. A bluejay feather. I figgered the powers that be decided that maybe they had gone too far on this particular manifestation of our camping curse and had decided to apologize by providing the feather we had wanted to find.

Say cheese!!

I was reminded recently of when Gabe first discovered the concept of posing for the camera. In October 2006, we'd gone for a train ride at Roaring Camp. As we reached the mid-point of the ride, the train came to a halt and we exited into a lovely redwood cathedral area. I remember trying to get him to pose for a picture inside the hollow base of a tree. Here's one of those pictures:


Then, he stopped to watch a family of children assembling for a group photo and wanted to join in. I got him to stop by promising he could watch. When they were ready, the photographer shouted the inevitable, "Say cheese!" Everyone dutifully mouthed the time-honored tradition in unison, which is what, I think, truly charmed my son.

He demanded to know what the heck was going on. After I explained the concept of saying "cheese" for the camera, he posed over, and over, and over, and over, and over...of course, saying "cheese" each and every time. Witness the grin:


Now, if I ask him to smile for the camera, he slaps on the cheesiest grin in creation and caps it with shouting through his teeth, "cheese!" He'll hold the pose until the camera has clearly done its business and then want to see himself on the preview screen. Imagine his total confusion on the rare days I whip out my old film Nikon.