What kind of group meal participant are you?
I mean, if you're with a group, do you actively like to participate in shared group meals? Or just tolerate doing so? Or decline to participate in shared meals because eating your own food is simpler, or more pleasant, or you're on a special diet, or just because you like to be self-sufficient? I eventually evolved into that last category, where I mostly remain today.
When I was camping on trips with various whitewater groups for 20 years in the 1980's and 1990's, we had a few folks who absolutely loved cooking for large groups and organizing coordinated kitchen orgies. They got great satisfaction out of it. Laurie was amazing. So was Jan.
In West Forks, Maine, Jan once asked me, a reluctant kitchen participant, to wash the sand out of the head of some obscure leafy salad vegetable, probably having a trendy French name. Immediately, I thought: "Why does this unappealing clump of vegetation have sand in it, anyway?" Then, having already helped start the campfire, I wondered why Jan hadn't asked her husband, Ray, to do this job, when he hadn't done anything all evening except sit against a tree and chew on a toothpick.
So, I ran sulfurous water over the sissy French leaf-thing in the outdoor sink at Webb's, and brought it back to Field Marshal Jan. She proceeded to inspect the thing leaf-crevice-by-leaf-crevice. "You didn't get all the sand out, Glenn! I'll just have to do it myself!"
I was stunned. No way was I going to eat her blinking salad, now.
Ray, who was watching this drama and smirking, called me over to his tree. "Have a seat, Glenn. You're a lucky man."
"What do you mean, lucky? I just got reamed by your wife for being an incompetent sand washer."
"Yes, Glenn, but this means Jan will never again ask you to do a kitchen chore. I've been lucky enough not to have been asked for decades now. Relax. Want a toothpick?" So, Ray and I chewed the fat and enjoyed our mutual escape from kitchen duties, on that trip and many after.
Ray is gone now. Jan no longer paddles. I remember when she and I celebrated our 40th birthdays on the banks of the Farmington River at New Boston, Massachusetts, almost 40 years ago. I miss them both . . . and even those blinking group meals.
I mean, if you're with a group, do you actively like to participate in shared group meals? Or just tolerate doing so? Or decline to participate in shared meals because eating your own food is simpler, or more pleasant, or you're on a special diet, or just because you like to be self-sufficient? I eventually evolved into that last category, where I mostly remain today.
When I was camping on trips with various whitewater groups for 20 years in the 1980's and 1990's, we had a few folks who absolutely loved cooking for large groups and organizing coordinated kitchen orgies. They got great satisfaction out of it. Laurie was amazing. So was Jan.
In West Forks, Maine, Jan once asked me, a reluctant kitchen participant, to wash the sand out of the head of some obscure leafy salad vegetable, probably having a trendy French name. Immediately, I thought: "Why does this unappealing clump of vegetation have sand in it, anyway?" Then, having already helped start the campfire, I wondered why Jan hadn't asked her husband, Ray, to do this job, when he hadn't done anything all evening except sit against a tree and chew on a toothpick.
So, I ran sulfurous water over the sissy French leaf-thing in the outdoor sink at Webb's, and brought it back to Field Marshal Jan. She proceeded to inspect the thing leaf-crevice-by-leaf-crevice. "You didn't get all the sand out, Glenn! I'll just have to do it myself!"
I was stunned. No way was I going to eat her blinking salad, now.
Ray, who was watching this drama and smirking, called me over to his tree. "Have a seat, Glenn. You're a lucky man."
"What do you mean, lucky? I just got reamed by your wife for being an incompetent sand washer."
"Yes, Glenn, but this means Jan will never again ask you to do a kitchen chore. I've been lucky enough not to have been asked for decades now. Relax. Want a toothpick?" So, Ray and I chewed the fat and enjoyed our mutual escape from kitchen duties, on that trip and many after.
Ray is gone now. Jan no longer paddles. I remember when she and I celebrated our 40th birthdays on the banks of the Farmington River at New Boston, Massachusetts, almost 40 years ago. I miss them both . . . and even those blinking group meals.