Last weekend three of my coworkers and I went camping at our friend (and former coworker) David's little piece of paradise. I've talked about David before in a previous post. He was the know-it-all, one-upper from my first week of work. As it turns out, he toned down the 'know-it-all'ness considerably the following week and quickly became one of my very favorite persons. David worked at Rippon for a total of two weeks, no out of necessity (he's actually quite well-off) like the other temporary workers, but simply for an experience. When he left, he extended an open invitation to everyone on the crew to come and camp on his seventy acres in Naseby anytime we wanted. With Monday off (the Monday after Easter is a national holiday off work) Amy, Shannon, Simon, and I decided it was the perfect time to take him up on his offer.
So, on Saturday morning, we loaded up the Chariot with our tents, sleeping bags, bedrolls, cook stoves, fishing poles, frisbees, camping dishes, a supply of food (complete with marshmallows), a case of beer, and a couple bottles of vino and off we went. It was about a three hour drive, much of it through what Lord of the Rings fans know as the Kingdom of Rohan--gentle rolling golden fields peppered with thosands of gnarly craggy rock formations. I half expected to run headlong into Prince Eomir and his Rohirim around every bend in the road.
Upon arrival in Naseby, "2000 ft above worry level," as proclaimed by their welcome sign, we stopped in at David's house. He was busy in the kitchen cutting up all manner of vegetables for the stew he was making for our dinner. A half hour later, with the stew set to simmer, we were off, but not to our camping spot just yet. Nope. We headed down to the local pub for quite a special treat. Over Easter weekend, the population of Naseby virtually quadruples
(from it's regular 180) for the annual "Bards, Ballads, and Bullshit" festival--three days of folk music, poetry readings, and tall tale telling. We grabbed a few jugs of lager and settled into a cozy little booth and proceeded to enjoy a couple of bards, a few balladeers, and one very amusing bullshitter--the cutest little old man you ever did see (looked to be about 90 and with a big, red, bulbous nose indicitive of a lifetime spent keeping the pub in business) regaled the audience with a story, he says was relayed to him many many moons ago by a farmer from Marfa, Texas, about a duck who goes into the grocery store to inquire of the shopkeeper as to the availabilty of duck food. Maybe you've heard it. I admit, I had before. But never have I enjoyed the telling of what is actually a rather lame joke so much. The excitement in this little fellows voice as he built ever so slowly to the punchline--with the entire audience, I'm sure, having figured out where he was going long ago and parked there patiently waiting only for our dedicated story teller to finally arrive--was of such unbridled enthusiasm you could have lit up a Times Square billboard with it.
(from it's regular 180) for the annual "Bards, Ballads, and Bullshit" festival--three days of folk music, poetry readings, and tall tale telling. We grabbed a few jugs of lager and settled into a cozy little booth and proceeded to enjoy a couple of bards, a few balladeers, and one very amusing bullshitter--the cutest little old man you ever did see (looked to be about 90 and with a big, red, bulbous nose indicitive of a lifetime spent keeping the pub in business) regaled the audience with a story, he says was relayed to him many many moons ago by a farmer from Marfa, Texas, about a duck who goes into the grocery store to inquire of the shopkeeper as to the availabilty of duck food. Maybe you've heard it. I admit, I had before. But never have I enjoyed the telling of what is actually a rather lame joke so much. The excitement in this little fellows voice as he built ever so slowly to the punchline--with the entire audience, I'm sure, having figured out where he was going long ago and parked there patiently waiting only for our dedicated story teller to finally arrive--was of such unbridled enthusiasm you could have lit up a Times Square billboard with it.
With our jugs empty and the marathon duck joke finally told, we decided to go set up camp. David's little slice of heaven sits on a hilltop overlooking a dense pine forest, with a snowcapped mountain range providing a most majestic backdrop. From a small shed, David pulled out the most comfortable camping chairs there ever were--a mix and match collection of living room chairs procured from various garage sales over the years--and arranged them around the waiting firepit. We spent a few minutes collecting kindling and firewood and in no time Shannon had u a nice little blaze going. David ran back home to collect the stew, while Shannon threw the venison sausages on the grill. After a delectible dinner, it was marshmallow roasting time! Too bad we didn't think to buy graham crakers and chocolate bars prior to departure.
We sat and talked and laughed and drank wine for a couple more hours then decided to turn in. While we all packed tents, they never even made it out of the car. We spread out our bedrolls and slept right there on the gound under that biggest tent of them all--the star-filled night sky. It was a good day.
Speaking of turning in, I'm tired and I want to go to bed. So it looks like this will be an installment piece. Stay tuned for Naseby Camping Trip Part II coming soon.
Cheers!
The Kiwis like alliteration as much as you!
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