User:NatWeeks

                            Pt.2  Adventures with Sparkplug 

  Chief was concerned that one of my cabin-mates was the son of Elliott Richardson, the then Secretary of HEALTH, Education & Welfare.  Were the media to discover that his son shared a cabin with a pig...

   So, the next morning, we build a corral giving Omar time to build a proper wooden pen on the field above the museum.  My hope, having learned that pigs are generally smarter than dogs, was that as Sparkplug grew, we could fit him with a special pack and have him join us on hiking trips in the wilderness.  

   Unfortunately, when he reached a suitable size, his belly would scrape on the rocks.  I jokingly blamed Albert for his great cooking - more than the campers could consume.  There was always plenty for Sparkplug and several campers volunteered to make sure he was well fed!

   Once a week, I’d wash the pig.  Sitting in the meadow, one hand would press on his back as he straddled my thighs so the other could dip into the soapy bucket to scrub him pink as the clover around us.  He didn’t like that and raised a ruckus but to no avail.  His stubby feet couldn’t reach the ground in that position and on my wet, nylon bathing suit found no traction in spite of his galloping.

   In the middle of the summer, I decided to introduce Sparkplug to my family at our summer home, but that would mean hitch-hiking across Maine and all the way across New Hampshire to Lancaster on the Connecticut River adjacent to Vermont.  I started hitch-hiking down the road at Springers.

   A farmer came to the country store to get a pack of cigarettes.  He had told his wife that he’d be back in about ten minutes.  The old-timer took a liking to me and offered to take me up to Bethel so I could get onto Rt. 2.  I laid Sparkplug, half out of the basket, across the back seat and hopped in the front.  It was a sunny day, great weather, and we had an interesting conversation about all sorts of things as the countryside rolled by.

   At Bethel, he inquired as to the next big town.  I allowed that it was probably Gorham, a half hour to the west.  So the warmth continued to breeze in through the four-door’s open windows and the conversation continued.  I don’t know if he’d ever been this far from his farm. 

  Gorham was only 40 minutes from Lancaster and it was a wonderful day, so on he drove stopping in Jefferson to pick up a gal hitch-hiking, who slid in alongside me.  Unbeknownst to her, Sparkplug in the back was asleep in the sunshine.  However, when the car bumped over a frost-heave, Sparkplug awoke snorting!  The gal turned to us with huge eyes blurting, “Is that a pig?!”  We all had a good laugh.  In due time, our friend dropped us off at our various destinations and my family was delighted to meet Sparkplug.  

   As for the farmer, I suppose he got home for supper but what an example of our camp’s motto: Help The Other Fellow! 

{to be continued by Nat Weeks}