So I was just on the phone with my husband; he and my son went camping yesterday with some other people from church at Green River Lake State Park. My husband was talking to me about what they’d been doing, when he stopped, and I heard him say in a serious and semi-urgent tone to my son,
It’s alive, Will. Don’t mess with it.
My head filled instantly with images of every live thing that could possibly be in or around a Kentucky lake and the surrounding woods. Scorpions! Skunks! Copperheads! It turned out to be a moth; the warning tone was for the moth’s sake, not my son’s.
Anyway, this single sentence, heard out of context, struck me as extremely funny.
Interestingly, while they were camping at Green River, I was performing at Blue River. Afterward, I came home and slept in my nice, soft bed. To be honest, the whole idea of camping just doesn’t work for me. Hard ground. Dampness. Bugs. Cold. Questionable restrooms. General grunginess. On the plus side, they got to go fishing and kayaking and enjoy a roaring campfire. But for me, the controlled climate and comfy bed win every time. As I told a friend, “Camping to me means anything less than 3 stars.”