G
Guest
Guest
Jeeze Louise, bugs are part of the deal.
Sometimes and in some places you do what you have to do to be there now. I have done so, stayed, endured, survived and wouldn’t trade the memories. Or much want to re-live them, at least suffering with the bug-gear we had at the time.
When our sons were young I tried, not always successfully, to avoid the worst of biting insect hell. My older son would was (is) a bug-magnet, and would come home thoroughly welted and scratched and bloodied. And bruised and bandaged, he was both clumsy and adventurous.
After a Christmas or Spring Break trip, when they returned to school, I always kinda wondered if Social Services would be knocking on our door inquiring about their condition.
If you can not stand the heat stay out of the kitchen, is one of the oldest sayings I can remember. Maybe canoe camping is not for you take up mini golf.
“Blackfly” may have chosen an unfortunately poster name, throwing down the gauntlet and challenging the Gods of the Hatch. I do not know if he had his brood of young offspring with him, which needs be considered if you want to raise kids who enjoyed their experiences and want to go back. The poor dogs didn’t have much of a belly-bit say in the matter.
While I enjoy a round of putt-putt golf every 10 years or so there are places I simply will not again trip during the height of bug season. Long sleeves, long pants, socks tucked in, bug jacket, gloves, head net, dope, freaking duct tape or rubber bands around my wrists and pant legs.
Am I really here, or sealed off in a moon suit from the outside world? And dang I wish it wasn’t so hot and breezeless, and I wasn’t sight/sound/touch occluded, encased head to toe in bug-barriers.
Otherwise I can be caged and restless inside a screen house. Looking through the no-see-um netting at a hazy, breeze killing view of what I came here to see and feel? Aside from shoveling in un-buggy meals I actually prefer the former; at least I am out here, not inside there.
Thanks for the mini-golf memories I had not thought of in years.
We played a round 40 years ago at a middle of nowhere bayside putt-putt course. One of the guys was actually a very skilled golfer, and while he was laughing at the absurdity the whole time, I could sense he was getting frustrated (and was not winning).
The 18[SUP]th[/SUP] hole: Hit through the windmill and into the clown’s mouth (why is there a clown behind a Dutch windmill?) and win a ticket for a free round. He teed his ball up on the “putting green”, abruptly turned sideways and blasted a solid 100 yard drive out into the bay with a putter.
I think he felt ever so much better after the distant splash.