Once upon a time, when I was a mere youngster, my family and I lived in neighborhood and I had a lot of neighborhood friends. One day my friends came over and proceeded to convince me to climb the fence with them in order to explore the creepy abandoned trailer that was hidden in the shrubbery a little ways from my house. Now, being the upstanding little girl that I was and knowing that my mother had told me multiple times NOT to go anywhere near that trailer, I decided that it was best for me to write my mother a little note telling her where I was and to not worry about me.
I remember practically shaking as I wrote the note, left it on her dresser, and followed my friends over the fence. I remember approaching the tall wooden fence that surrounded the trailer's yard and hoping, wishing, and praying that it contained a fairy world on the other side instead of what I knew would really be there. I remember walking into the trailer to see it completely trashed with graffiti covering the walls. I remember the sound of my mother's panic whistle as I raced back home. I remember the guilt and what I know understand is apprehension as my mother told me to wait until my father gets home for punishment. Most of all, I remember how long it took for dad to get home, how long it took for him to bring it up, and just how extremely terrible I felt waiting for that punishment to arrive.
In the end I learned that true punishment is knowing that you did something that disappoints your parents and that waiting for the spanking is worse than actually receiving the spanking.
Here are some stories that are taken from my memories of life in Strawberry, Utah. If you want to get the whole experience please listen to the song below while reading, I feel like it appropriately conveys the feeling of these memories.
When I was really young, my family and I lived in Strawberry, Utah for an un-determined amount of time. In my memory it remains a mysterious and magical place. I was about three or four years old when I lived there and so my memories are snippets in a fog that fades in and out.
[Found on google images, search: strawberry, utah]
My parents were the managers of a campground that was located next to a lake. My dad would clean the boats for some extra money while I searched for fishing sinkers like they were lost treasures. I had two friends who were my age and we would roam freely around the lake playing hide and seek and eating grilled cheese sandwiches under the staircase in the restaurant (their grandparents were the owners of the restaurant).
[Found on google images, search: strawberry, utah]
My mom had the wonderful job of walking around the campground to make sure that the visitors were being lawful. A lot of times they would park on the grass and my mom would have to make sure that they did not because it would kill the grass. I would ride my tricycle alongside her and I think that it was my job to be super cute in order to keep the visitors from getting mad at mom.
In addition to making sure that the visitors followed the rules, my mom also had the dirty task of knocking down the swallows nests that were built in obnoxious groups around the restrooms. This must have something difficult to do; I cannot imagine knocking down birds nests because it would probably be killing baby birds and eggs. The birds did not like this either and so our car was usually singled out by the swallows to be used as ‘target practice,’ in other words they would retaliate by covering the car in bird poop.
[Found on google images, search: strawberry, utah]
I remember one day in particular, my mom was making her rounds and I was on my tricycle. My sister was just a baby so she was in the stroller. My mom left her for a second and during that time my fearless sister managed to climb out of the stroller. She fell into the gravel, splitting open her forehead. To this day I have a very distinct memory of my baby sister crying loudly while being strapped down to an operating board before they sewed her forehead shut. In the middle of her forehead she still carries a scar that is shaped like a star.
As I mentioned before, the campground was located on a lake. This lake also housed a fishery to raise fish that would eventually be put back into the lake in order to keep the fish population at a healthy level. I remember walking around the fishery with my dad and he would explain the purpose of the fishery and the different kinds of fish that grew up there. I would climb up on the rails and look into the pools that contained the young fish, there were hundreds of them in each rectangular pool.
[Found on google images, search: strawberry, utah]
The first time that I got stung by a bee I was sitting in my mom’s bed. I sat there watching a huge bumblebee fly around the room; it suddenly landed on me and stung me for no reason at all. I know that there has to be more to this story because bees do not just sting people, but my mom says that she does not remember this ever happening. She thinks that I am making it up, but I promise that I am not. I distinctly remember how big it looked as it flew, the pain of the sting, and my reaction to it (which was of course screaming and running to mom).
Occasionally it would rain in Strawberry and on those days the grass and shrubs would come alive; it was like living in a lush green wonderland. One day I was standing at the door looking out at the rain when I spied a pitiful looking creature making its way across the yard. The poor thing was totally soaked and it was slowly dragging its once fluffy tail along behind it. Very concerned, I ran to mom and begged her to let me bring the creature inside to let it get dry and warm. “No Lydia, you cannot bring it inside, that is a skunk!”
[Found on google images, search: strawberry, utah]
A few years ago my Aunt challenged me to write down my stories so that I will never forget them. I haven't been true to that challenge in the last year but the other day I had the pleasure of listening to her story about going fishing for crabs in the marshes near Savannah, Georgia. Inspired by her story I wanted to post one of mine.
I know that it's important to be safe, and trust me I want to be safe, but aren't the most terrifying experiences the ones that are your absolute favorite to tell?
It was the last weekend of my time studying abroad in Chile. My friends and I had done just about everything that we could pack into one month, went snowboarding in the Andes, danced all night, loved on alpacas, and tried pisco sours... but one thing still lingered. We had promised each other that before the end we would ride up the coast to eat some of the famous seafood empanadas. So the weekend came and my friend and I bought "un directo" ticket that would take us directly to Con Con. Simple and easy. We got on the micro (a little bus), settled in, and began our journey up the coast.
As we rode further up the coast we began to realize that we had no idea where to get off. I assured my friend that it was fine, all we had to do was get off when we reached Con Con. This town was supposed to be on the coast, but suddenly the micro started to make its way into the hills. My friend gave me 'the look' and I began to doubt my plan.
"I know that we're on the right bus, we just haven't reached it yet."
Sure, I sounded confident but in reality I was a little nervous. We eventually did see the Con Con sign, but we were still in the hills and about to go away from Con Con.
"Ok, we need to get off at the next stop or else we'll really get lost."
My faithful friend followed me off the safe micro. It drove off, literally leaving us in a cloud of dust. We looked around with nervous eyes. We were at the corner of a small deserted looking market and a run down neighborhood. We were two gringas who could barely speak Spanish, lost somewhere in a random neighborhood, located in the hilly coastline of Chile, South America. I wish that I could show you a photograph, maybe then you would understand the gravity of our situation.
"Lydia, if I die because of this..." Needless to say, my friend wasn't very happy about this.
We were not hurt, there was nobody following us, and it was 11:00 in the morning. "We are ok, we just need to get to the ocean because that is where all of the restaurants are." With that, we made our best guess as to the direction of the ocean and began to walk.
We passed a few stray animals and got a few looks from the residents, but other than that it was just a good walk on a beautiful day. Eventually we did find the ocean. There was only one problem (isn't there always?), the steep hillside that was covered in vegetation stood between us and the sparkling blue ocean.
Ok so now the priority was to find the stairs that are usually carved into the side of the hill. We walked one way and didn't find anything, so we turned around and walked the other way. We finally found the stairs and climbed down relieved to get to the ocean. But once we got down we realized that there were not any restaurants in sight. Actually there was nothing in sight, no cars, no people, no houses, only a small sidewalk and the road. We decided to walk far enough to see around the bend. We reached the bend and peaked around.
Nothing at all. We were so lost. Until this point we had been pretty calm, but honestly now we began to panic a little bit.
As we walked we came across this beautiful shrine to Mother Mary. It has a specific name in Spanish but I can't remember it at the moment.
After a few moments of confusion we saw our savior drive around the corner. It was a lone, blue, micro. As it drove towards us, I couldn't help but notice how it seemed to be lopsided and driving a little too fast and wobbly for comfort. But we were not in a position to be picky and so we waved it down and hopped on. We barley had enough change between us to buy two tickets, but God was smiling on us. As soon as we paid the driver he launched the micro and nearly sent me flying backwards out of the still open door. I grabbed the nearest thing I could and pulled myself into the seat beside my friend.
After a few minutes of holding on for dear life the town appeared on the horizon. Oh sweet Con Con! How you have eluded us! We got off at the strip of restaurants and began to walk around trying to figure out which one to eat at. The first one we passed was closed as well as the second. There was one in particular that I wanted to eat at, but when we reached the front door of it we looked in and saw that they were doing construction. The restaurant was closed for remodeling. Lovely!
When we eventually made it to an open restaurant, we were the only customers. If you have ever been to South America then you will know that no body eats out for lunch because they are all at home.
Anyways, we settled in just grateful to have made it! As we scanned the menu we came to the disappointing conclusion that seafood empanadas were not served at this particular restaurant. With how the day was working out, that was the only thing that would have made sense anyways.
So I ended up getting some kind of seafood plate in the shape of a fish. The menu looked extremely foreign to me and so I just picked what I thought was shrimp.
Ironically my friend teased me for not being adventurous and eating something totally different. But whatever, I like shrimp.
I think that this plate was served in the quis quis style (basque cooking). Apparently Basque people have a very special way of cooking things.
So we ate our food, got some change, and made our way back to our homes. We were tired, we were full, and we were happy (and safe).
El fin
A few friends, Kurt, and I found out the hard way that cooking chicken is not such a good idea in an on-campus apartment.
Our plan was to cook some amazing jerk chicken for dinner. It was going to be soaked in delicious pineapple salsa and a sauce. Mmm mm mm.
Well before it was even close to being finished, the chicken started to smoke a little bit. It was fine for a while, but before we knew it the whole thing had gotten out of hand. The smoke kept piling up on the ceiling and, despite my feeble attempts to get it flowing out of the windows, the fire alarm went off.
Now at home this would not have been a big deal, since you can probably turn the fire alarm off, but on campus it means that the police and the firetrucks are required to come
Blah.
I don't really work well under pressure, such as an unnecessarily loud fire alarm, so I could not find my student ID. I gave up and grabbed a jacket and my shoes and ran out the door. Once we were all outside, we realized that none of us could get back in because I didn't have my ID.
The police were inside and we were outside unable to explain ourselves!
The firemen came all suited up to fight the oh so nasty non-existent fire, if only we could have served them a delicious chicken dinner instead :(
We have decided to only bake stuff from now on.
And my ears are still recovering from the terribly loud alarm.
I woke up to the crash of thunder and the sound of pouring rain... this must be what a hurricane would sound like. It was only 6:45 in the morning so I rolled over and fell back asleep, but not before sending out a drowsy wish for classes to be canceled. It was not a hurricane, mind you, merely a rainy day in Wilmington. The rainy days in Wilmington are unlike any that I have experienced anywhere else.
I put on my boots and suited up with a raincoat and my umbrella. You would think that I was prepared for the rain, and I thought so too. I met my boyfriend outside to walk to class together like the cute couple we are. It was not raining at this point, just a slight drizzle. Nonetheless I open my umbrella in an attempt to save my good hair-do (of course the only day that my hair looks good is on a rainy day, wonderful).
"Why are you using your umbrella now? It's not even raining!" exclaimed my friend.
"Well, I kind of want to keep my hair looking good," I replied knowing full well that it won't stay that way.
As soon as this exchange took place the clouds opened up and it began to pour down rain.
So you could say it was his fault for jinxing it. Or you could say it was mine for opening the umbrella.
Either way, we made it to Dunkin Donuts and by the time we left the streets were flooded.
Within about 2 minutes, we managed to have soaking socks.
Within about 2 hours the major intersections on campus were closed.
Within 4 hours the pond was about to overflow and the amphitheater was shin deep.
Have on a raincoat? Well, it just became a joke.
At this point rain boots are useless, the water is so high it will just make them into a nice homemade aquarium.
I hope you didn't carry anything of importance with you, such as laptops, books, or folders... because they are now thoroughly soaked.
Freshmen don't stand a chance.
I don't even stand a chance.
The sad thing about all of this? Classes go on as scheduled. The funny thing, they get canceled for 3 flakes of snow or a hurricane possibility (where it didn't rain a drop, maybe there was a slight breeze). But when a storm that manages to flood the campus comes along, the show must go on!
But despite all of this, I love Wilmington. Rain and all.
This post is about a band I found, but first I have to explain how I found it.
Last night I had a horrible dream about a kitten killing a kitten. One of my cats is pregnant, that's probably where the dream came from. It woke me up and I was so horrified by it that I still haven't gone back to sleep, and that was about four hours ago.
So I read the Bible, finished another book of mine (called The Book of Hours, I definitely recommend it if you're into life tragedy, love, mystery, and happy endings). After that I got up to make sure my cats were ok (no kitten killing please), made some tea to sooth my poor throat, and settled down to skim a magazine. In that magazine I read a small excerpt about a band called Gungor. It really got my attention so, with nothing better to do, I went to my computer and looked them up on youtube.
and wow. simply wow
This band is a mix of Sigur Ros, Sufjan Stevens, Muse, and God. What an amazing combo
Beautiful Things by Gungor
... very appropriate that I found this song after that horrid dream
Well my original plan for tonight was to sleep... but my chilean sister is having a party downstairs. Now I can't because the music from downstairs, which is not loud, somehow becomes loud on its way up into my room. So the only thing I can really do is blog!
My most recent excursion was to the Ocoa National Park. Hiking into this park was like stepping right into Jurassic Park! I half expected a T-rex to come charging out of the forest at any moment. It was so awesome because there were palm trees, cactus, and snow covered mountains all in the same place.
"There's more to living than being alive with downcast eyes"
The palm trees were not actually palms. They are a type of grass, which is insane to think about. I imagined that I was an ant walking through a patch of grass (it's basically what we are in comparison to the magnificence of this world and universe anyways).
The views were absolutely breath taking. Hills behind hills behind hills, all covered in green and maybe snow. It was so difficult to follow the group and enjoy the scenery at the same time because the path was pretty tricky, one misstep would mean tumbling down into mud or rocks.
It happened to be raining the morning we left and I did not buy a poncho because I was lazy and just wanted to get home the day before. It was ok though because I had my kind-of-rainjacket and an umbrella. When we got to the park and all suited up I was kind of glad not to have a poncho...
[This picture is not mine, I found it on google images]
So now that I've told the initial story of Burro Creek, you might see how much I love it. I don't know how well I conveyed this in my last story, but Burro Creek holds a spot in my heart with memories that no one can ruin.
Well... almost no one.
My freshman year of high school my family and I moved back to Arizona for some odd reason. I began to date a guy, Mario, who had loved me since first grade. I decided to give him a chance because, well, he loved me since first grade!
This guy turned out to be the exact opposite of what I wanted or should have even gotten involved with, but stories explaining that are for another time. This story is about the time I stupidly invited him along with my family and myself on a camping trip to my beloved Burro Creek.
Oh where to begin.
I was on the phone one evening, listening to him talk about how much he loved me. I wanted to care, but I just didn't. I kind of felt bad about it, and so a stupid thought popped into my head.
"Hey Mario, would you like to come with me on a camping trip?"
"YEAH! THAT WOULD BE AWESOME!" (caps to emphasize his over-excited enthusiasm)
"Okay, let me go ask my parents."
I think I asked just to make him feel good, I did not really want him to come on this trip. I also thought my parents would object, him being my boyfriend with raging hormones, and me being their innocent daughter. To my surprise they said it would be a great idea.
At that moment I knew it was a horrible idea.
We picked him up at his house. He got in the car and insisted on sharing my headphones while I listened to my CD player (which was meant to help tune him out). He smelled gross and he wanted to put his arm around me. This was going to be a long night.
We got to camp and I jumped out of the car, taking a seat near the fire while Mario and my dad set up camp. He thoughtfully brought a Johnny Cash CD. I despise Johnny Cash and my dad loves him, so of course it was played loudly and sung loudly by both of them. My stomach churned, I looked to my mom for help and she just shrugged and looked at me with pity.
'Whyy did I do this to myself?' I groaned internally.
The night passed with little to no events. I sat as far away from him and as close to my mom as possible.
I climbed into the tent shared with my sister and went to sleep.
I woke up to him "tickling" my feet; this did not go over well. Then his soot covered hand grabbed my favorite pillow and began to playfully beat me with it. I glared at him angrily and tried to rescue my pillow, but the soot left a nasty hand print.
We all ate breakfast prepared by Dad and got ready for our hike down to the creek for a swim. When I arrived at the creek I jumped in and swam to the other side where Sarah, my sister, and I took refuge on a ledge only big enough for two.
We stayed there for awhile, keeping our distance from him.
After awhile I decided to explore downstream. I was hoping to sneak away and be alone for awhile, but nothing escaped his eyes. He followed me as I waded through the shallow part of the creek. I realized this and picked up my pace hoping to lose him. I went around a bend, got back on the shore, and made my way back through the trees and shrubs.
Not good enough, he was still there. This pissed me off more, so I began to run in bare feet across the scorching sand and from shady spot to shady spot. He thought this was a game, so he chased me all the way back to my families spot next to the creek.
Surely he couldn't be missing all the signs! It was obvious that I did not want him there!
I hated myself for inviting him.
We started to pack up our things to head back. I had just dried myself off when he grabbed a handful of mud and threw it at me. It landed on my arms and face. By this time I was extremely pissed. I grabbed a handful of hot sand and slung it in his face, gave him the evilest glare that I could muster, then tromped back into the water to wash off.
He laughed and dared to venture,
"Hahaha... women!"
to which my not so oblivious dad replied,
"I wouldn't say that if I were you..."
The rest of the day I spent sending glares in his general direction.
On the car ride home he fell asleep and slid onto my shoulder, smelling of everything gross, mouth wide open, causing my anger to flare.
Unfortunately, I was too nice back then to push him off of me onto the floor. If I could do it over again, I would tell him off earlier in the story (or not invite him at all...); but being as it was, I let him rest his grimy head on my shoulder for the first and last time.
Later that evening after dropping him off, he called me from the theaters wanting to know the average "What's up?"
I told him that I did not want to date him anymore, and asked if he was going to be okay.
He very maturely replied,
"Oh yeah, I'm tough, I ride bikes."
I laughed to myself and hung up the phone, knowing very well that he was going to hate me for the rest of his life, or at least for the rest of his high school years. He deserved to hate me, after all I did invite him on the trip.
[These photographs were not taken by me, I found them on google images because I do not have any of my own pictures of Burro Creek]
This place holds many cherished memories from my childhood. Burro Creek is a campground in the middle of Arizona, pretty much exactly in the middle of the desert. You would think that the desert is full of nothing (a lot of dry nothing), but if you take the time to experience it then you will discover that it is full of life and beauty. The first time we camped here, the desert came alive in a way that will stay with me forever.
We arrived at the campground, set up camp, started a nice fire, and relaxed as the sun set. My sister and I explored the campground in the fading sunlight, running as fast as we could along the dirt roads and through the shrubs that surrounded each site. That night the family sat around the fire and roasted delicious marshmallows. Our faithful dogs, Toby and Lina, waited by our side for the discarded goodies that sometimes slipped off our sticks during the transfer from the fire to our mouths. The embers slowly died with the quiet passing of time, the glint reflected in the eyes of everyone who sat comfortably in chairs around the ring of rocks that marked the fire pit. I blew on the coals, soon after realizing that they only got brighter with the breath that was meant to put them out. This reminded me of God's light in us all, how our strength should be. As our lights are being "put out" by outside forces, we should only grow brighter and stronger in our faith.
Eventually the moon was high in the sky, telling us it was time for bed. I crawled into my tent that I shared with my sister and fell into a satisfied slumber while the crickets sang us to sleep.
The next morning we woke up to a hot Arizona morning that was especially made for hiking. There are only two temperatures in the desert... hot and cold; this day was definitely going to be hot. We put on our fanny packs (which, at the time, was a new and cool thing for me), got our water and sunscreen ready, and headed off to the find the trail. The trail opened at a twisty gate built to keep the wild burros out of the campground. A huge saguaro cactus greeted us as we began our journey to the bottom of the trail. The path led to a pretty little creek with a swimming pool. We eagerly jumped into the cool water, a nice refreshment from the desert heat.
After a while of playing here we got bored and decided to follow the creek up stream. In the distance there was a huge bridge built over the canyon, we made it our goal to hike to the point underneath the bridge.
As we traveled up stream, the foliage began to get more and more lush. Soon we reached another waterhole that was divided by a huge log and a lot of rocks. The shaded side looked like a scene from a fairytale, water flowed out of rocks and vines snaked up the wet the canyon wall. We crawled across on the rocks to explore this mysterious side. Bees buzzed angrily in the smaller side canyons as I tried to explore them too, I gave up and returned to the water's edge.
Small colorful fish swam near the top of the clear water and dark green moss coated the rocks just below the surface.
Even though this spot seemed perfect, we were still not under the bridge. So off we went, leaving the fairytale setting behind us, back into the sun and hiking over sun dried rocks. After a while we finally made it to the overpass. I remember it looming above us, cars driving across with no clue to the beauty that lay just below them.
As we sat there, we saw another swimming hole close to us, this one being the biggest and deepest of them all. There was a huge rock that provided the perfect place to jump off into the blue water. We swam for what seemed like hours. I went to the other side, being the explorer that I am, and hiked up a little farther. This way was just filled with hot sand and weeds, so I went back.
Oh, but what is a good hike without an injury? I tried to pull my dog, Lina, into the water but only managed to scrape my heel on a sharp rock. This later turned into an infection that began to snake it's way up my leg... but I won't get into that now, this story is already long enough.
The hike back to camp was not as fun as the hike there, the return trips always seem twice as long. We ran out of drinkable water, the dogs chased some cows and calves that were wandering around, and my heel was bleeding and painful from the scrape. Being young and whiny (you know, those early tween years) I'm sure my sister and I were not very pleasant companions for my parents. We did make it back to camp though, fairly safe and sound.
Also, it is rumored that there are wild horses in this area. I'm pretty sure I saw a wild black mustang and most of my time there was spent in search of it.
Burro Creek is a magical place and I hope to go back again someday.
So I feel like I need to tell a few short stories that have happened in my life. I want to get them down somewhere so I won't forget.
A Night in New Mexico.
The family had just finished a visit to relatives in Las Vegas, Nevada and we were on our way back to North Carolina, driving across country in a car. We spent the whole day driving through Arizona and we had just made it into New Mexico. It must have been around 10:00pm because I remember it being extremely dark. One thing about my family and long trips is that we never buy a motel for the night, it is cheaper and usually more fun to find a campground off the highway. Needless to say, after a few of these long road trips, we were getting pretty good at camping. On this particular night the campground that we were looking for ended up being farther away from the highway than we had originally thought. We kept driving on this dirt road, traveling deeper and deeper into the dry and dark wilderness of New Mexico. Eventually we gave up trying to find this mysterious campground and my parents decided to find an open spot on the side of the road to camp out under the stars on our air mattresses.
11:00pm We set up camp, turned off the lights, said our good nights, and sleepily stared up at the beautiful night sky packed with bright stars. As I was drifting off to sleep, I remember looking off into the distance filled with dark shapes. My over-active imagination began to create menacing animals out of the black shapes that were most likely trees, shrubs, or rocks.
12:00am We were rudely awaken to a park ranger asking loud questions. 'Have you seen anyone driving a red truck?' (apparently someone was on the run from the park rangers) 'No, we have not seen anyone else on this road.' I vaguely remember this conversation, as I was in the hazy mode between sleep and consciousness. I do remember him getting into his car while throwing out a last humorous word about wild bears. 'Oh, and be careful of the bears! Hahaha, have a goodnight!' Bears? He was joking, whatever, I'm so tired...
1:00 or 2:00 a.m. Dad woke me up. "Lydia. Get your stuff and get in the car. NOW." The urgency in his voice told me to not ask questions and it caused me to move as fast as I could. I sat in the car with my blanket and pillow clutched in my arms, my sister sat beside me with the same look of fear and question on her face. Outside my dad worked quickly, deflating the mattresses in record breaking time and stuffing everything he could in the trunk. My mom helped then got in the car and shut the door. Silence. Dad got the last things in the trunk and jumped into the car. The engine roared to life and we pulled onto the dirt road, traveling in stunned silence. After a few long minutes of this, my dad finally spoke up. "I do not want to scare you girls, but there was a bear in our campsite." What?? A bear?? The ranger wasn't joking after all. "I woke up with a strange feeling, I could smell it before I heard it; you know it's a bear when you smell it. Then I heard something big moving around, sniffing, close to us. I did not want to frighten it because that would make it attack, so I just started to make small sounds. I moved around slowly, letting the bear know that I was there. Eventually it left, but I wasn't sure how far it went. That's when I got you girls up."
Sometime between 1:30 and 2:30 a.m. We drove down the road for a few miles and suddenly came upon the campground. It was surrounded by a tall fence. My guess was that its main function was to keep out the bears. The next morning we woke up to the bright New Mexican sun, feeling good to have survived the night. That morning I learned the importance of one minute detail, I was on my period. I was 14 and not willing to use a tampon, so the only other thing to use was a pad. Another thing, bears can smell blood, they love blood. Mom and Dad pulled me aside, "Lydia," said my Dad in hushed tones, "the next time we camp out and you're on your period, let me know." My 14 year old self was mortified, humiliated, and embarrassed.
Several thoughts ran through my head at once.
'Tell Dad that I'm on my period? Are you serious?! And Mom told Dad that I'm on my period? I could have been killed by a bear last night!"
Wow.
Now I look back and laugh at this story, I love telling it to friends and family.
I still love camping, but needless to say, I never want to camp out in New Mexico without the protection of a tall fence... or a tampon.
