The Moose

We have returned from our weekend camping extravaganza.  It was full of adventure, which is to be expected when one is camping with a husband such as mine.

First off, we have to set up the parachute.  You all remember the parachute, don't you?

Well.  My husband has one.  And it is a joy, nay, a pleasure to try and set up.  My parents and I start to help him set it up when the camp host comes to offer a friendly greeting.

Friendly Camp Host:  Hey!  It's you!  It's The Parachute Guy!

David:  Oh, hi!

Friendly Camp Host:  You come here every year, right?

David: Right.

David has abandoned us, The Lowly Parachute Pole Holders, and goes to chat with his new fan.

Friendly Camp Host:  Yeah!  You are on my Facebook page!

David:  Oh, really?

Friendly Camp Host:  Hey, where can I buy one of those?

And they chat and chat and chat while we, The Lowly Parachute Pole Holder-Uppers, sit and wait for David to finish impressing the socks off of everyone.  Which apparently is not hard to do when one camps with a parachute.

Don't lie, readers.  You would want to meet The Parachute Man, too.

So, after I almost DIE whilst holding up a parachute pole (which may or may not have come crashing down a time or two), I have to go gather wood with my Lumberjack.  On the side of a road.   Here is the lesson I learned while gathering wood on the side of the road with my husband:

Do not go gather wood on the side of the road with your husband.  Ever.

My husband knows where every dead and downed tree within a 20 mile radius is at any given time.  True Story.  He is like The Dead Tree Whisperer.  As luck would have it, this tree is off the side of the road, in a ditch.

He hooks it up with a chain.  I think?  What do I know.  I was probably checking Facebook on my phone.  Then  he has to try and pull it out of the ditch without getting the truck stuck in the ditch.  If that makes sense.  And it probably doesn't, because, again, I really didn't care.  But what I do care about is dying and the truck was all smoking and bucking and basically throwing a HUGE fit and I was sure immediate death-by-ditch was upon us.

It was so terrifying,  I stopped checking Facebook.  True Story.

He pulls it out and gets us onto the road, but now we are towing a huge, dead tree on a road with all sorts of dust flying behind us.  Because my husband likes to keep life interesting.  He pulls it  about 1/4 mile down the road and gets us off to a wider space, yet still on the side of the road, where he cuts the wood into logs and I, the loyal helpmeet that I clearly am, load them into the rig.

And, yes.  I called the truck a rig.  It seemed appropriate for the tone of the story, wouldn't you agree?

As I was recovering from two near-death experiences in one hour, we pulled up to camp behind a truck, driven by the aforementioned Friendly Camp Host with a Facebook page that contains a picture of our campsite,  carrying a dead moose.

Exciting, I know.

My mother, yes MY MOTHER, comes up to the window and has THIS convo with MY husband.

(You can tell from my excessive use of all caps that I am a bit OUTRAGED at the following happenstance. )

Mom:  I got it for you.

David:  What?!

This is the most emotion my husband has shown in at least two years.  At least.

Mom:  It's yours.

David:  Are you SERIOUS?!?!

Mom:  I'm serious.

David:  100%????

Mom:  100%

And David, who for some reason is driving his truck barefoot after wood cutting (?) hops out of the truck in his barefeet and basically skips with joy to the poor, dead animal.

Be warned!  The following picture might contain a dead moose!

I'm not kidding!

Leave now or forever hold your peace!

In the past year, the state has made it legal for peoples to harvest road kill.

Oh, joy.

So, instead of letting this moose go to waste, my husband, yes, MY husband gets to gut and clean this moose.

At camp.

Guess who gets to have moose meat in her freezer now?

Please.  Try to contain your jealousy.  Not everyone can live my glamorous life.

So, yes.  That was all one, lovely, calm evening being married to my husband.

You can't make this stuff up, people.

***

The next day, my mother-in-law, ever worried about the cleanliness of the moose meat, organizes second Moose Meat Clean Up Crew, where basically all able-bodies adults get to stare at the flesh and cut it up all over again.

Fun!

That was the closest I could stand to get to the moose flesh.  My apologies.

I decided to volunteer to watch all the small children under the age of 5 and take them on a trip to town to buy ice.

Aren't I the smartest?

Somehow, my mother in law ended up with all the moose meat and I am ever-so-grateful and hopeful that it will stay forever and ever in her freezer.

Amen.

The blackberries are on like Donkey Kong in this area and on Friday, my husband and the rest of the Moose Meat Crew went on a blackberry hunt while I, once again, watched the children.

Then on Saturday, I went on a bike ride with my mom-in-law, my mom, Amy (sis in law), Alex (bro in law) and Holly (sis in law-Alex's wife).

My mother in law is not your typical Grandma.  She bikes for fun and basically I was exhausted, hungry, and praying she would get fatigued and let us turn back.

She remained strong and steadfast and we biked for about 12 miles.  Which is good because later on, I had a Moose Tracks ice cream (no relation to the animal in my ma-in-law's freezer).

On the bike ride, I, being a true Maliblahblah now, spotted millions and millions of blackberry bushes.  I informed my husband when I got back, and he just had to go get them.

So, he asked Amy if he could borrow her bike.  Since it has a basket.

My husband.  He is such a mystery.  One second he's got his hands deep inside the cavity of a moose.

The next he is riding a bike with a basket to find some tasty berries.

Alright.  This post has gone on long enough!

We had fun.

We ate a lot.

We went to the fireworks.

Amy took pictures.

See?

David, HD, and I

Amy, Sweet Pea, and Jason.

I know you are confused and wondering why there are fireworks.  Regretfully, this post has droned on enough and I have no time to explain.  You are just going to have to accept it.

So, tell me dear readers.

What are your exciting camping adventures?

Do tell.