Winding down

It is week six. That means we are beyond the point where we have found our pace to run at. We are so used to the pace, we don't even realize we are running. But we do know we want to stop.



Mmmmmmmm, week six.


We built a fort today. It's made out of milk crates and giant palates we use for tent floors. We have something like 216 crates for the walls, three palates for the floor (one for a porch) and two for the ceiling. And two chairs. And two mattresses. With a nice view in front. We need a camo blanket or something for the back so people eventually (a week and 5 days left) forget it's there.


PS I have to poop.

Oh dear lord

There are things on camp that I love doing. Hiking. Swimming. Canoing. Gravy. Cleaning up a giant barrel of water which has been vomitted into, then left for a week. Or two. And there may have been a piece of shit or two. Plus some trash. And flies.
Fortunately, the smell was totally bearable. Seriously.
If you can call vomit, gravy, poop, fly poop, and poop all mixed into a soup that had turned black bearable.
Which you can't. By the by.
Anyway, we slowly moved it to a ditch (spilling on ourselves, eliciting giggles from the crowd of onlookers and gags from Colin and I) and then put a trash bag on top of the barrel to use as a filter to catch the trash when we dumped it over.
The smell didn't improve when we poured it out. It just spread out.
Seven hours later, we still have the smell on our hands. And by we, I mean me because I'm not a little girl who washes his hands/arms forty times.


Good story.