User talk:NatWeeks

                                  A REALLY BAD START TO THE CAMP SEASON

   After training in the Wind River Range with NOLS, I joined the staff as the director of the Mountain Program the summer of 1975 through 1980. We had a blast climbing lots of mountains. I talked my cousin, Dave, into visiting and he was hooked. That last year my fiance, Silence, came for several weeks and helped Albert in the kitchen. We were married July 26 and after a honeymoon in Bermuda returned to Wyoming/Colorado, but each summer since then, my heart, from 2,000 miles away, yearns for BRC. 

   At the beginning of one summer, Chief asked me to pick up two new campers at the Portland Airport.  I greeted both but neither appeared happy at all.  As it turned out, the first had been to another camp and hated it.  The second had never been away from home at all and had been infected on the flight by the first camper.  Into the stationwagon with me climbed misery, fear, sadness, anger, and homesickness!

   On the drive through the countryside, I tried my best to excite the campers, to at least offer hope and encouragement but I couldn't cut through the gloom.  And then, around the bend of the country road appeared a farm sign, 'Pigs For Sale.'  I slammed on the brakes and exclaimed, "Let's buy a pig!"

   The campers were incredulous but timidly followed me across the gravel to the barn where a farmer met us.  We followed him down between high steel-barred pens protecting us from huge, angry-looking sows to a cluster of little piglets.  All but one were dozing in a heap.  That one was scurrying around the pen with a happy smile on his cute face.  We bought him for $15 and named him 'Sparkplug.'

   Nothing was the same any more.  The two campers were delighted and full of glee as Sparkplug rolled across their laps in the back seat.  We arrived to hear the dinner bell summon us to eat.  The welcome and announcements followed.  Counselors rounded up their tentmates and carried trunks to the cabins.  Then it was lights out.  We hadn't had a moment to think about what we were going to do with Sparkplug!

   At the last moment, I found a cardboard mattress box for Sparkplug, filled it with new mown hay from the upper field, and slid it under my bunk.  We settled under our blankets and all was dark and quiet.

   Nights, the early part of June, can be chilly.  And Sparkplug was also homesick.  He suddenly shattered the peacefulness with his squeeling.  It was loud enough to echoed across the lake!  He wouldn't be consoled.  He wouldn't shut up.  And he was making a racket.

   Finally, in desperation, I grabbed him and tucked him under my sheet and blankets.  Oh, that did the trick!  He contentedly snuggled up against my warm body with just the tip of his snout sticking out.  All was well.

   The next morning, Chief suggested that I find a better place for Sparkplug...

{to be continued by Nat Weeks}