Category Archives: Work Camping

Aug31

Let Your Conscience Be Your Guide

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It was early in the season, before any of the campgrounds on our side of the mountain opened. The Man and I were already at work preparing campgrounds and making sure no one walked off with any yurt components.

Although it was officially my day off, I’d told The Big Boss Man I’d empty the iron ranger in the parking lot and make sure the restrooms there had toilet paper on my way to babysit the yurts at night. Babysitting the yurts simply meant sleeping in my van in the campground where they were located, and dropping off toilet paper and emptying the iron ranger only took a few minutes, so I didn’t mind helping out.

I’d been cleaning up an unfortunate honey spill in the big food tub in my van, so I got a late start heading to the parking lot. It was about 6:30 in the evening when I got there, and while it wasn’t dark, the sun was no longer shining brightly on the mountain.

I stopped at the restroom first and found there was still toilet paper on the holders. The rolls were less than half full, but I figured few people would be arriving so late in the day and the tissue would last through the night. I decided I’d stop at the parking lot again in the morning to make sure everything was ok, and I’d put out new rolls then.

As I drove around the road that looped through the parking area, I saw a full-blown campfire in one of the picnic areas. I pulled my van over and got out to talk to the two young men standing near the fire. They looked hella nervous as I approached.

Hello! I said. Are y’all just hanging out?

They planned to camp here, the one with the long hair admitted. He had a strong French accent, but spoke English well.

I explained they were in a day use area where camping was not allowed.

They said the woman at the Forest Service office had said they could camp at the campground next door. They seemed hopeful about the possibility of camping there.

No, I’m sorry, I told them. All the campgrounds around here are closed.

(I obviously don’t know what the lady at the Forest Service office told them, but it seems a little strange that a Forest Service employee would say they could camp in a facility not scheduled to open for over two weeks.)

I told the young men about nearby dispersed camping areas and then told them the fire had to be completely out when they left. Do y’all have water? I asked.

Oh yes, the one with the long hair said while the one with glasses pointed to a half-full one-gallon container sitting next to the fire. I was thinking a half gallon of water wasn’t going to put out a campfire when the one with long hair said they had three such containers. I figured at least two of them must be full and 2½ gallons of water could put the fire out if they were smart about how they used it.

I didn’t really like the idea of them having the fire in the parking area, but I didn’t think there was a rule against it. They said they had a fire permit, and having a fire in the parking area didn’t seem all that different from having a fire in a dispersed camping area. I stressed again the need to put the fire completely out before they left, and they assured me they would. I walked over to the iron ranger.

As I sat on the ground unlocking the padlock hidden within the iron ranger, a car pulled into the parking lot, ignored the yellow arrow on the road pointing in the opposite direction, and drove the wrong way to a parking space. A very young couple emerged from the car and began to walk toward the trail. I was standing by then, a pile of self-pay envelopes in my hand. I greeted the couple, and I guessed from the fellow’s accent when he responded to me that they were not Americans.

You can put your $5 access fee in a self-pay envelope, I said, gesturing to the empty self-pay envelopes in the holder, and drop the envelope into the iron ranger. At that point in my monologue, I gestured to the iron ranger.

The fellow and the woman both looked uncomfortable. Maybe they didn’t have $5. If they had told me they had no money, I would have told them no problem and invited them to enjoy the trail. Instead the fellow said they would be there one minute to make a picture.

I’m getting ready to leave, I told them. Let your conscience be your guide.

They both looked hella guilty and uncomfortable, but they moved toward the trail without taking an envelope, much less putting $5 in one and dropping it into the iron ranger. I got in van and left. I’d done all I could to get a payment out of them.

 

Aug27

Treachery

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It was the morning of the first day of training for my seasonal job. About a dozen of us workers sat in the small conference room of a shabby Best Western, learning the ins and outs of our jobs on the mountain.

We were wrapping up from a short break when The Big Boss Man said for all to hear, Blaize, it’s a picture of your van!

He was looking at his phone, so I thought a visitor had posted on some review site a photo that included my van. The real story was much more complicated than that.

The message my boss received came from the Forest Service. A visitor to the trail had taken a photo of my van in the parking lot and sent the photo with a message to someone in the Forest Service, but whether the message went to some national email address or directly to someone local, I have no idea.

This is the iron ranger The Man and I were accused of robbing.

This is the (paraphrased) story the visitor told in the message to the Forest Service: The visitor was in the parking lot and saw a van pull up to the iron ranger and two people who didn’t look like they belonged there retrieved the money from the iron ranger. The people seemed to be “under the influence.” After taking the envelopes from the iron ranger, the two shady people stayed in the area, probably to hit other locations.

I don’t know what day or time the reported incident occurred. The Man and I had gone together to empty the iron ranger a few times in the six days we’d been on the mountain before we received this report. Depending on what day the visitor saw us empty the iron ranger, the circumstances were slightly different. The Man thinks the incident probably happened the day he opened the ranger and 35 or 40 envelopes fell into his lap, causing him to yell exuberantly to me, Honey! Honey! Get a bag! Get a bag! I think the incident happened the day I emptied the iron ranger, then The Man and I stayed in the area (parking lot, campground, trail, highway) picking up trash. In any case, please allow me to separate the fact from the fiction in the visitor’s tale.

FACT: The company I work for does not provide me with a vehicle to drive between campgrounds, so I drive my van to the parking lot when I go there to retrieve money from the iron ranger. My van sports no decals or magnets with the company logo. So, yes, the visitor did see my hippie van with out-of-state plates in the parking lot. There is no disputing that the van in the photo is indeed my van.

FICTION: Two people who didn’t belong there retrieved the money from the iron ranger.

FACT:  The Man and I very much belonged there. We were on the company payroll, with instructions to empty the iron ranger.

It seems to me that seeing us emptying the iron ranger in broad daylight would have been a clue we belonged there. It seems to me the fact that we had a key to unlock the padlock protecting the money would have been a clue we were authorized to retrieve the envelopes.

FACT: To be fair, we weren’t in regulation uniforms. I had not been issued uniform pants, so I was wearing a uniform shirt, my uniform jacket, and my nametag from last season along with a pair of tan Carhartt-type pants. The Man was wearing a uniform shirt and uniform jacket with grey sweatpants because he was on his way to paint and didn’t want to ruin his uniform pants before the season even began.

So maybe our attire did not scream professional, but if the concerned citizen had spoken to us, even casually, we could have explained who we were and what we were doing there.

FICTION: We were “under the influence” (presumably of some illicit chemical substance).

FACT: We were certainly not under the influence of any illicit chemical substance. I don’t know where the visitor got that idea. Maybe because we were laughing and joking? Maybe the visitor thinks only people who are chemically altered can have a good time at work?

FACT: Yes, we stayed in the area after we emptied the iron ranger. We either went next door to the campground to work there, or we spent the next couple of hours picking up trash.

Honestly, I’m not upset my boss was contacted, although I have to admit I’m a bit miffed about that “under the influence” part. I know The Man and I were doing nothing wrong. However, why can’t people just talk to each other? If the concerned citizen had only spoken to me or The Man, we could have cleared everything up.

 

 

Aug24

I Saw Something New

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It happened again. Just when I thought I’d seen it all, I saw something new.

It was the beginning of my fourth season on the mountain. The Big Boss Man had asked me and The Man to come up the mountain early to make sure nothing bad happened to the precious yurts in the time between when they were put up and when the hosts of the campground arrived. The Man and I needed money, so The Big Boss Man put us to work immediately. We were preparing campgrounds for campers, collecting access fees at the parking lot on weekends, and picking up the self-pay envelopes stuffed with money visitors were dropping in the iron ranger during the week.

The first weekend we were back, I worked the parking lot on Saturday and Sunday while The Man raked and cleaned fire rings. I was surprised by how busy the parking lot was on both days that weekend. I parked nearly 100 cars on each day, and the season hadn’t even officially started.

With cars came people, and I had a lot of folks to talk with. The most popular question of the weekend was about the most recent fire on the trail. Later in the week when I walked the trail, I saw why people didn’t want to believe they were seeing the aftermath of a prescribed burn. The fire had left a large portion of the downed trees along the trail looking really ugly. It was difficult to believe humans would create such an eyesore on purpose.

The new thing I saw happened on Sunday.

Throughout the weekend, I’d noticed several instances of two young women in a car together, probably on an epic lady road trip. Some of the pairs seemed to be American and some seemed to be European.

On Sunday, a pair of young European women arrived. I could tell they weren’t American because only one (the passenger) spoke while the driver looked past me with a glassy stare of complete lack of comprehension. The talker used choppy sentence with an unusual syntax, but she made herself understood.

I had the young women park right in front, near where I was stationed with my dilapidated chair and my purple backpack. The lot was busy, and it was easier to put them up front rather than send them into the depths of the parking lot and hope they’d find a spot.

It took the women a long time to prepare for their stroll through the trees. I was busy, so I wasn’t watching their every move, but I noticed they didn’t hop out of the car and head immediately towards the trail like most people do.

Finally, I noticed the driver heading across the street. She had her blond hair pulled up into a high ponytail, and she was wearing a close-fitting black jacket and black hiking tights. She managed to appear hip, fit, and sexy all at the same time. Then I noticed her butt, or rather what she had strapped across her butt. It was a thick foam rectangle, the sort of thing a gardener might kneel on to protect the knees from the hard ground. The pad covered both of her butt cheeks; a strap circling her middle held it on.

Of the thousands of visitors I’ve seen cross the road to the trail, this woman was the first I’d ever seen with a cushion strapped to her bottom. I don’t think it was simply a fashion accessory; it seemed too drab and utilitarian to be mere decoration. If the woman had been walking into a sports stadium, I would have guessed the pad was to provide some comfort while sitting on hard seats, but she was going out on a trail. Was she afraid of falling and bruising her tailbone? Maybe. Did she plan to sit for a long time on the cold, hard ground looking up at the trees? Maybe.

I didn’t try to ask her about her butt pad. I don’t know if she would have understood my question or if I would have understood her answer. Besides, if a perspm wants to strap on a butt cushion, it’s not really my place to question her.

 

Aug20

Nearest Bar

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It was around eight o’clock on a Saturday morning. I was performing some camp host duties to help out. The folks on site #1 hadn’t gotten checked in the night before, so I was walking over to have them sign their permit.

A slow-moving car approached me from behind. The only other people on the far side of the campground were the young folks who had sites #6 and #7. One of the young women in the group had come over while I was cooking breakfast to ask me now far the campground was from a body of water. Not much later I heard a car leave site #6. I thought they’d taken off for a day on the river, but now I heard a car behind me that could only belong to part of that group. I figured some of the young folks had gotten a late start and were just leaving now.

When the car pulled up next to me, it stopped.

Excuse me, a feminine voice said, and I turned to look.

Two young women were in the car. Both were looking at me expectantly.

Do you know where’s the nearest bar? the driver asked me

I was stunned. I involuntarily glanced at my watch. It was well before 8:30. I try not to judge, but I’m pretty sure anyone inquiring about the location of a bar before noon while on a camping trip has a problem.

The nearest bar? I echoed slowly.

It turned out these gals did have a problem.

Their friends had left with all the food. These young women thought the friends had gone to a bar to watch a soccer game, since that’s what the friends had done the day before. I suppose these young women wanted to track down the friends and get ingredients for breakfast.

I told them about the small community 15 miles away. There’s a restaurant, bar, and general store there, I said, but added it wasn’t much of a soccer kind of place. It’s under new ownership, I remembered aloud. Maybe they’ll have the soccer game on.

I told them about the larger (although by no means large) town 35 miles away. There’s a brewery there, I told them. Maybe the soccer game will be on there. It was only later that I wondered if the brewery would open at eight on a Saturday morning so customers could watch soccer on television. I suspect a brewery doesn’t serve breakfast and would normally open around 11am for lunch.

Where should we go? the driver asked me.

I didn’t know how to help. I certainly didn’t know where their friends had gone. I ended up suggesting they go to the closer place first. At least they could get breakfast there, The Big Boss Man said later when I related to story to him.

I assume the friends found each other. I was at work at the Mercantile all day, then headed down the mountain to get gasoline and propane and a giant ice cream cone. It was dark when I got back to the campground. People were in the tent on site #7, and they didn’t run over to tell me their friends were missing, so I figured everything must have worked out ok.

(The people in the tent didn’t realize their voices carried in the forest. We’re drunk and you’re high! I heard a feminine voice exclaim clearly. Soon another feminine voice was relating the story of the time she got roofied.  Oh Lord! I thought. They’re going to be up all night, but thankfully they piped down shortly after 10pm.)

There are lessons to be learned from this tale.

#1 Don’t pack all the food in one vehicle.

#2 If all the food is in one vehicle, don’t drive that vehicle out of the campground while your friends are sleeping.

#3 Communicate with friends before bedtime about who’s leaving the next morning, where they’re going, when they’re leaving, and what time they’ll be back.

#4 For goodness sake, don’t schedule a camping trip for the weekend of the most important soccer tournament of the year.

Image courtesy of https://www.pexels.com/photo/sport-game-football-the-ball-52504/.
Aug17

Snoopy the Bear

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This season, the Mercantile is offering many Smokey Bear items for our customers’ souvenir pleasure. We have 1,000 piece Smokey Bear jigsaw puzzles. We have decks of Smokey Bear playing cards. We have Smokey Bear magnets, Smokey Bear wooden postcards, and Smokey Bear wooden gift tags. We have Smokey Bear metal signs and some made out of wood. We have Smokey Bear sanctioned survival kits, whistles, binoculars, and compasses. We have Smokey Bear t-shirts, Smokey Bear coasters, and Smokey Bear plush toys. We have representations of Smokey Bear all over the store, but most are concentrated on the top shelf of a unit directly across from the beverage cooler.

One Sunday morning a large group of people came into the Mercantile. They seemed to be a family group, and English did not seem to be their first language. One little boy was immediately drawn to the main display of Smokey Bear items, but he was a bit confused.

Snoopy the Bear! Snoopy the Bear! he shouted with glee.

His mother was right behind him. I thought she’d explain to him that Snoopy is a dog, and Smokey is a bear, but no. That’s not what happened. Instead of correcting him, the mother agreed with him. Snoopy the Bear! she said in a voice of excitement similar to her son’s. Snoopy the Bear!

Marketing fail—for both the estate of Charles M. Schulz, the creator of the Peanuts comic strip, of which Snoopy is a character, and for the USDA Forest Service, which owns the rights to the image of Smokey Bear.

Unfortunately for the Mercantile’s bottom line, the woman did not buy her son a souvenir by any name.

I took the photos in this post.
Jul27

Purse

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She didn’t have much English.

What we see here? she asked when she approached the counter.

The guy with her didn’t seem to have any English. After I explained they’d see giant sequoias on the trail, she turned to the guy and translated. The language they spoke wasn’t one I recognized. The other store clerk insisted it must have been Portuguese (because she could recognize French, Italian, and Spanish), but I wasn’t convinced. I’ve been told Portuguese sounds like a mix of Spanish and Italian, but the language these customers spoke sounded like nothing I’d ever heard.

The woman’s entry into the mercantile’s guest book did nothing to solve the mystery. I’m sure the other clerk thought all would become clear when the woman accepted the offer to sing in, but I’m sure she wasn’t expecting the visitor to write “Torrance, CA” on the line.

The woman asked for directions to the closest national park. I explained in detail what roads to take and even pulled out a California road map so I could tell and show. The woman bought the map and asked if they should walk our trail before they left. I told them I’d get on the road immediately, as they still had a drive of several hours ahead of them.

The woman asked about restrooms, and I pointed to the building housing pit toilets on the other side of the driveway. She spoke to her fellow, and they both moved to the store’s door.

The woman had put her purse on the front counter during the examination of the map, and it was still sitting there. I thought she’d pick it up before she left the building, but she seemed to plan to go to the restroom without it.

Ma’am, your purse, I said as she got farther from the purse and closer to the door.

She waved her hand at me, as if to indicate, Oh, that old thing? I don’t need to take it with me. With her limited English, she communicated that they were only going to the restroom and would be right back.

Um, no.

You really should take it, I said sternly.

She took the steps back towards me and swept the purse off the counter.

I’m glad she thought I was honest. I am honest, but she had no way of knowing I wouldn’t riffle through her bag and pull out some choice items.

Also, how was I to know she wasn’t going to try to pull some scam on me? She could have come back from the restroom and insisted I’d taken a nonexistent wad of cash/iPhone/credit card.

What if other people had come into the store and someone had snatched her bag while I wasn’t looking? Would she have held me responsible for not keeping a closer watch on her belongings?

I was not willing to take responsibility for her things. I don’t know how it’s done in Torrance, CA, but where I come from, we don’t ask store clerks we don’t know to take care of our purses.

Photo courtesy of https://www.pexels.com/photo/brown-leather-crossbody-bag-with-white-framed-sunglasses-167703/.

 

Jul23

Shrieking Shopper

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On Sunday night I did my duty as security guard for the mercantile. I pulled my van between the mercantile and the rentable yurt behind it. I hung my curtains immediately, and no one bothered me.

On Monday morning I woke up early and went into the mercantile before 6am. I used the WiFi to check Facebook and schedule a couple of short blog posts. While I was standing behind the counter messing around on my laptop, I glanced across the room, and under shelves holding t-shirts I saw a mouse butt disappearing into the shadow.

animal, apodemus sylvaticus, brownGet out of here! I shouted at the creature. You don’t live here!

I don’t know if my words influenced the rodent of if it was just the vibration of my yelling that sent it on its way. I didn’t really care why it left; I was glad to see it go.

On Tuesday morning The Big Boss Man handed me three boxes of rodent poison. I put on latex gloves, pulled the cover off each tray, then placed the trays full of poison pellets behind and under lockers and shelves.

The Man is really sad about killing the mice. I’m not too happy about the murder of mice myself, but I haven’t come up with a another effective solution.

Possible Solution #1: Let mice live in the mercantile.

Problems with Possible Solution #1: Mice will shit and piss everywhere. Having shit and piss all over the mercantile would be gross and unsanitary. Also, mice would chew merchandise and use clothing to make their nests.

Possible Solution #2: Catch mice in a live trap.

Problems with Possible Solution #2: Mice caught in a live trap must be released miles from their home, or they will soon return to the original location. I doubt The Big Boss Man is going to drive mice miles down the road looking for a place to release them humanely.

Possible Solution #3: Get one of those devices that (allegedly) emit high frequency sounds that (allegedly) drive rodents away.

Problems with Possible Solution #3: I’m not sure those devices even work. The devices need electricity to work, and one might use more electricity than the store’s solar panels transmit to battery storage. Such a device might cause the store’s generator to run at night, interfering with the quietude of nature and possibly annoying campers.

Possible Solution #4: Get a cat to live in the store.

Problems with Possible Solution #4: Some customers will be allergic to cats and have a bad reaction when they walk into the mercantile. The cat will sleep on stacks of shirts, leaving fur and allergens behind.

Later on Tuesday morning, an extended family from Missouri walked into the mercantile. The boy child was about six, and the girl child was probably ten. Both had blond hair and round checks. The mom and dad seemed wholesome and spoke to the children and each other calmly. This branch of the family—parents and kids—wore matching t-shirts in support of the girl’s friend who had cancer. The grandparents came in a little after the rest of the family.

Grandpa sported a mustache and wore a ball cap and a t-shirt from a Christian fishing event with a quote from the Bible on the back. (Of course, he had on pants too, but there was nothing remarkable about them.) Grandma had permed her thin brown hair and wore glasses and simple, casual clothes appropriate for a walk in the forest. I suppose I’m old because the grandparents seemed closer to my age group than the parents were.

The members of the family were lingering, seemingly looking at every single item in the mercantile. I stood behind the register and daydreamed while I waited for someone to bring up selections for me to ring up.

Suddenly Grandma screamed! It was a high-pitched, scared scream, not angry yelling. Probably a better word for the sound Grandma emitted is “shriek.”

Everyone in the store turned to look at her.

I’m sorry, she gasped. There was a mouse!

She said she’d picked up a t-shirt and as she lifted it, a mouse fell to the floor, then scurried away. She was apologetic, obviously embarrassed, and still terrified. She wouldn’t even go back to the side of the store where the mouse incident had occurred. She handed off the mousy t-shirt to the other clerk and picked out a shirt from a shelf as far away from her rodent encounter as possible.

I identified with her discomfort. I would have shrieked too if a mouse had fallen out of a t-shirt I was considering for purchase. I probably would have left the store and never returned.

I felt for the poor little mouse too. It had probably just eaten some poison and was looking for a softly comfortable place to die. Instead of finding a peaceful death, it was shrieked at and dropped to the floor. I hope my own passing is less eventful.

Image courtesy of https://www.pexels.com/photo/animal-apodemus-sylvaticus-brown-button-eyes-208977/.
Jul20

Security

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anatomy, biology, eyeNow that the store is up and full of merchandise, The Big Boss Man wants someone on site in the campground where it’s located every night. When the camp hosts are away from the campground during their weekly time off, guard duty falls to me.

To be fair, The Big Boss Man says, if you don’t mind to me whenever he asks me to do something extra, but it seems risky to me to refuse his reasonable request. Honestly, sleeping at the other campground is no big deal. The beauty of sleeping in my van is that I get to spend the night in my own bed no matter where I’m parked. Also, I’m reimbursed for the mileage I accrue driving back and forth between the campground where I live and the campground where the store is located. At 54 cents a mile, I’m not getting rich from driving, but at least it’s a little something to help me out.

I’m not sure what I would do if I woke up in the night and realized someone was robbing the store. The phone is in the store, so if burglars were in there, forget about calling 911 or my boss. I suppose I could get license plate number(s) and description(s) of vehicle(s) and person(s) involved, then climb into my drivers seat, start my van, and drive away to alert my boss. I suppose on my way out of the campground I could shout, That’s my purse! I don’t know you!

Before the campground opened, and I stayed there overnight to guard the store and the yurts, I parked in one of the paved accessible parking spaces. The gates were closed, and I had the only vehicle there, so I figured it didn’t matter if I parked in a reserved spot. Once the campground opened, I decided I better stay out of areas designated for folks with disabilities.

The first night I was on security duty after the campground opened, I drove through the area before parking in thehttps://images.pexels.com/photos/699558/pexels-photo-699558.jpeg?auto=compress&cs=tinysrgb&h=650&w=940 camp host site. I knew the hosts had checked in two groups with reservations earlier that afternoon, but I saw at least five sites were occupied. The campground had gotten some walk-in campers before I arrived.

I was not on camp host duty, so I wasn’t concerned with any campers who were not checked in. The Man would patrol the campground the next morning and write permits for anyone who hadn’t been issued one by the camp hosts before they left. I hadn’t been given any permits (since I wasn’t working as a camp host), so I couldn’t have check in anyone even if I wanted to, which I didn’t.

After driving around the campground, I backed into the host site. I had a decent view of the store there, so I could see what was going on if I heard any noises in the night.

I knew I should have drawn my curtains immediately, but instead I sat in my passenger seat, pulled out my phone, and tried to catch a whiff of the store’s WiFi. I hadn’t sat there even ten minutes when I looked up and saw five people standing near my van, looking intently at me.

The youngest woman said, Hello! as soon as I looked up.

I greeted her, but I suspect I looked grim.

They would like to camp here, the young woman said, gesturing to the other people standing nearby.

Ok, I said, leaning back to speak through the open windows on the side of the van. A camp host will be around tomorrow to check them in.

Tomorrow, she echoed. Is there one site that’s not reserved?

I don’t know, I said, which was the truth.

I don’t have any paperwork, I said, which was the truth. The Man had the arrival report for the campground. I knew the camp hosts had put up a reservations card on each campsite that had been reserved for the next week. All the people had to do was walk around and read the signs to find out what sites were available that night.

The young woman continued to look at me expectantly. I’m just working security, I explained with a there’s-nothing-I-can-do shrug.

The people wandered away from my van and huddled together in the roadway, presumably discussing which campsites were available that night.

I learned my lesson that night. I no longer spend my security guard nights in the host site. I park behind the Mercantile and put up my curtains immediately. When I’m away from the host site, the campers don’t seem to consider me someone who might be able to answer their questions.

Images courtesy of https://www.pexels.com/photo/eye-iris-anatomy-biology-8588/ and https://www.pexels.com/photo/six-camping-tents-in-forest-699558/.
Jul14

The Current Situation

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The Man has left the mountain.

He’d been having a difficult time. He’d gotten sick and was still feeling the effects two weeks later. He’d been working alone at the parking lot since I’d started full-time at the mercantile on the Thursday before Memorial Day. He was still having trouble with his daily paperwork and sometimes spent a couple hours a day on it. The weekly cash out was an ordeal that took several hours. He was frustrated, tired, and discouraged, and one day he’d had enough, so he left.

He broke up with the job, but he didn’t break up with me. We still love each other, and we talk about the future.

We’re currently in different states, but that’s ok. Our bodies may be apart, but our hearts are still together.

He’s learning to cut stones to use in his wire-wrapped jewelry. I’m still working in the Mercantile, reading books, and working on this blog. I miss The Man, but overall, I’m doing well.

With the Big Boss Man’s permission, I moved out of the campground where The Man and I were living and moved to a little nook in the nearby group campground. I’m now living in the campground where I found the dead man! I could have stayed in the other campground but it seemed too awkward for me to share a site with the new camp host and his mentor/roommate. Also, I still feel responsible for that campground, and I didn’t want to have to constantly make decisions as to whether or not I should offer the new camp host suggestions or just let him run the campground as he sees fit. I thought my life would be easier if I packed up and left.

Living at the new campground puts me closer to the Mercantile, so I can save a little bit of gas each day. My campsite is surrounded by trees, and I can see a meadow from where I stay. In the past, a bear has frequented this area; after the campers left and before the garbage was picked up, he would have a trash can buffet. I’m trying hard to keep my site clean so as not to attract this bear or any others.  The campground is usually empty during the week, so I expect to have a lot of quiet time.

All in all, life is still good.

 

Jun25

High Maintenance

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I was walking down the incline leading to the restrooms. I’d been at the front of the parking lot putting self-pay envelopses into their holder, and now I was heading down to the restrooms to check the toilet paper supply.

I saw the woman open the restroom door, look inside and squeal with disgust. Look at that! she said to her male companion.

Oh no, I thought, imagining what the woman was seeing in there to cause such revulsion.

Where do you even wash your hands? the woman asked her companion in utter disbelief.

Theres no water here, I told the couple. No water in the campgrounds on this mountain either. That’s what the drought’s done. There used to be water here, but now the well’s dry.

The woman looked at me increduously. The fellow was grinning slightly.

What did you see in the restroom? I asked the woman. Did someone do something gross?

No, she said a little sheepishly. I was just being high maintenance.

I chuckled when she called herself high maintenance. She didn’t look high maintenance–no high heels, no elaborate makeup or fingernails or hairdo, no inappropriate-for-spending-time-in-nature clothing–but standing in the doorway or a restroom that’s not really dirty and making sounds of disgust does make a person seem high maintenance in my eyes.

If you enjoyed this story, check out my book Confessions of a Work Camper: Tales from the Woods. It’s all about my two seasons as a camp host and parking lot attendant at a very popular trailhead.

I took the photos in this post.