Drenched, but smokin'
I like camping, really I do. But this last time, not so much. During this, we were sleeping in one of these (although ours is an earlier model - lacking the full rain fly), right about here. Using Pampers size 4 to mop up puddles caused by horizontal rain in the tent at oh-dark-thirty is less than fun.
Still, it allowed me to build one King-Kong-meets-Godzilla of a campfire to dry out the next morning, so some good came out of the whole fiasco. Just how wicked a fire, you ask? After multiple cleansings, my wife and kids still smelled of woodsmoke this morning when I kissed them on the way out the door. That wicked.
And speaking of woodsmoke, my mother, my siblings and I all chipped in to buy my dad a Weber 2820 Smokey Mountain Cooker Smoker for his birthday. Which meant that after we wrung ourselves out and dispersed the animals who had been lining up two by two hoping we'd build a boat, we took a page out of Meat's book and smoked us some chickens. For those of you who haven't had the divine pleasure of tasting my dad's chicken, let me assure you it kicks some serious booty.
Silver linings, people. It's all about the silver linings.
My usual ramblings on politics, the military, and current affairs will will resume when I say so, and not a moment sooner.