Tuesday, May 22, 2012

....and then they arrived...

Our first night was lovely, peace and absolute quiet except for the Chuck-will's-widow at dusk. I've never actually seen one of these birds, but their call is unmistakable.

Afternoon number two arrived with the sounds of four teen-age boys setting up camp right behind us. Oh. No. Here. We. Go.

They came over and told us that if it got "too loud" to just let them know. Oh, how nice. Amelia told them if they're warning us about being loud, maybe they should find another site. I generally just scare people with silence. Why does silence scare people? I don't know, but it works. Sometimes. They stayed next to us.

At three a.m. the little rodents were still wide awake, guzzling Natural Light beer, breaking tree limbs down, running around shirtless with torch-like objects, and hurling themselves repeatedly into something trying to break it. Four words came to mind for me: Lord of the Flies. It's all fun and games until Piggy is dead.

The morning after:
Four teenagers, eight hours.

With the Conch nowhere to be found, the Crows and Grackles declare war over the carnage.

There's always a silver lining.  Most people, regardless of age, can't party like that every night. There is an ancient camping proverb, "Hangovers make night two a quiet and early one."

In the morning, Amelia let them know that yes, you were loud and obnoxious, and no, we aren't here to police you, you need to police yourselves.

As fate would have at, at 11:00 that night, they packed up in the dark and left.  Good-bye Jack, good-bye Roger, good-bye Beast, good-bye Conch. And R.I.P. Piggy.


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