First official graveyard shift is complete. I decided to embrace my truck as a refrigerator, for it keeps beer a perfect temperature!
Minus all the other things, fruits, veg, liquids not containing alcohol (like there are any of those anyways haha)
I feel better that I made it through the first full night. It is going to be tough as hell to get through standing in one spot for 10 hours at a time – but I’ll try to stay optimistic. I’m all bundled and ready to attempt sleeping through the day until I have to go back. Please oh please let the campground be kind and quiet. That means you Russ, on the bulldozer that keeps waking me up every morning to make sure I didn’t freeze to death (solely for Amazons purpose, a cadaver in a car would be frowned upon, I’m sure)
All this talk about Russ reminds me that I should share a lovely story he shared with me.
It was what was becoming a ‘typical morning’ in the campsite for me. I’d wake up with the sun, which is what I prefer, but reminded myself I needed to become a night owl, so would go back to sleep until around 11-12. Around that time exactly, it would sound as if Fern-gully was being recreated right next to my truck (remember the rainforest was being destroyed, like that). Along with the slow, but constant loud hum of a large vehicle coming closer, and closer. At this point, I come to the understanding that any further hope for sleep is useless, and climb out of the truck. Upon my dismount of the tailgate, I look up to see Russ parked right in front of me. Sitting tall on the bulldozer, donned almost entirely in University of Kentucky gear and blue jeans, he always looks so sympathetic. “Did I wake ya up?”, he’d ask, looking sheepish. At this point, we’ve had this conversation at least 4 times previous. He is fully aware he has woken me up, but it’s as if he brings it up, and looks at me with those eyes, it will make it less of a serious problem.
“Ya got a phone with a camera on it?”, he asked me. Having just climbed out of my tailgate half asleep, I couldn’t even manage the usual smile and nod that I’ve come to use as a standard response with Southerners. He kept pointing, and eventually hopped of the bulldozer. “This tree er, no that tree, hur the suns blocking’ it, hur,” I tried my best to squint and see what would be worth a phone camera photo. “Ya see that barrel in the tree?!”, he pointed excitedly. Indeed I had seen it before, it was right across the creek where I had been parking for almost a week now. I had just assumed a drunk group of campers had decided the barrel belonged in the tree now. “Flood of ’98,” he said proudly.
It was pretty interested the water from the creek about 20 feet below me could get that high ever, but then again not interesting enough to be woken up for.
However, now I have shared the story with my adoring public, I am sure it will change lives. Please enjoy the beautiful picture I have taken with my phone camera.
