Opening Weekend

My BFF and his family own a really big, really old cabin up in the mountains of Vermont. Every year around this time the menfolk of his family head up there for the ritual "opening" of the cabin. After being shuttered for several months of predictably balmy Vermont mountain weather, there is a host of de-winterizing tasks that need to be completed before the property is fit for habitation. And, as expected with a house that is several thousand years old, there is always a litany of repair projects to tackle. (OK, I have no idea how old the cabin really is, but it's old enough. Old enough to make the annual repair list unending.) So each year a group of guys, some more talented than others, gathers on the mountain, all with the same goal in mind: to fix more problems than he creates.

This year I got my first tap on the shoulder to join this beer swilling, tool wielding expedition into the harsh wilderness of The Green Mountain State. I have no earthly skills to speak of, so it can only be assumed that I was brought along due to a shortage of available qualified help and because they needed someone to drive the rental car from the airport to the cabin. Actually, I wasn't sure why I was volunteered to drive the rental car until, five minutes from the airport, we stopped to pick up, um, drywall lubricant.

The other important reason for bringing along a rookie like myself is because of the water supply at the cabin. All of the water comes from a natural spring further up the mountain. Getting that water to the house requires jumping in a well and opening a valve that lets gravity bring the water back down the mountain into the cabin's plumbing system. This isn't a "hot" spring and there was still snow on the ground, so you can imagine the temperature of the water in the well. The low man on the totem pole, me, is of course responsible for jumping in the well and opening the valve. This year, though, I actually had the fortunate misfortune of there being several failures in the plumbing system. I say fortunate because the plumbing challenges automatically rendered me under-qualified for jumping in the well. I say misfortune because the lack of running water for several days meant for some serious stank coming from the dirt covered, deuce dropping, beer marinated sweat machines with whom I was sharing a roof. If the paint on the walls wasn't already peeling, it would have been.

Though far from being literally cleansing, this short weekend in the mountains was certainly figuratively cleansing. Four days of wood chopping, drywall hanging, limited showering, late night bluffing, all while sustaining on Bud Heavy and encased meat products alone does something good for the soul. This is especially true when you've spent the last month living under your in-laws roof with your four small children. When it comes to problems, hopefully I fixed just enough more than I created and will garner myself a future invitation to opening weekend. Especially if it's someone else's turn to jump in the well.

I brought my camera with the intention of snapping hundreds of picturesque shots of the cabin and the surrounding natural environment. Instead, I remembered to break out the camera only a handful of times and didn't even grab a photo of the cabin or the mountain. My bad.

Oh, and by the way, jumping through a piece of drywall ain't all that difficult. It's the landing that's the hard part.



Here are some of the pictures I did remember to take. Click on them to check out larger Flickr versions.

First things first -- stock the fridge.



Just in time to enjoy the sunset.



A registry of past visitors.


No shortage of jobs.


View from the front room.



It gets damned cold at night. Best warm up from the outside and inside.



One of the elder more experienced members of the tribe.



Another veteran.



The sun goes down, the poker chips come out.



Hold it right there.



C'mon, Bug, you can do this. Two cards per player. Two cards per player...



Yes, we had chainsaws at our disposal...



...but where's the fun in that?



Die you dead piece of wood! Die!



Will wake for log chopping.



How not to hang drywall.



But seriously, who can hang drywall with Blitzen staring over your shoulder?



Meat. It's what's for dinner. It's the only thing for dinner. And lunch. And probably breakfast, too.



So what's your favorite PP&K Championship memory?



Did I ever tell you about the time I bought the wrong outlet box?



Old creepy trees are creepier at night.



Fire worshippers.



Wood chopping put to good use.



The ultimate space heater.



Front so warm. Back so cold.



Two generations of fire worshippers.


But after the fun, there's always more shitty drywall hanging to do.

The Boys

(Click this image for more fatherhood related blogs.)

It still blows my mind that I have three sons. And that I'm supposed to raise these boys to be men. It seems like such an awesome responsibility -- one that doesn't come with a manual or handbook. Though I guess it doesn't make sense to have a manual for raising men because the first page of the man manual would say "men don't read manuals."

Manual free, this Friday I got the opportunity to do some serious fathering when Julie's mom offered to take Amelia and Darwin for the day. With the house to ourselves, Jameson, Truman and I wasted no time delving into one of finer elements of manhood: Hot Wheels.

This was actually an issue we had been itching to tackle for some time. We have an extensive collection of cars, but let's be honest, it's not about the cars in and of themselves. It's about the jumps. The ramps. The air. Coincidentally, we just came into possession of a hundred feet of Hot Wheels track (thanks Curt), the key missing ingredient to truly appreciating our 1/64 scale hot rods and muscle cars. And without mom's better judgement to hinder our manly intentions, we set out to conquer gravity the way God intended -- with a Hot Wheels stunt track that spanned an entire flight of middle American prefabricated residential stairs.

In the words of Jameson, "this is going to rock."

Our official launcher.


The launch assistant.


The track.


At first our ramp was created with just a few DVD cases.


Even with such a small ramp, we were getting some sweet jumps.


I had to place myself in the line of fire to get these awesome shots.
Yes, it was dangerous, but it was worth it.


Relatively speaking, you'd need 1/64 scale marbles the size of, um, marbles to drive this track.


Why yes that totally sweet jump cleared the kitchen table. No biggie.


Badass!

Announcement #1

I have two very important announcements to make.

Announcement #1: I've grown a beard.


I've gone down this road before, but usually it's been a half-assed attempt that really should be classified as temporary shaving laziness. It never lasted more than a week or two and could barely qualify as a beard. This time it's for reals. And after several weeks now, it's really started to grow on me. (Oh hells yeah that pun was intended.) What I've got going is no Chuck Norris, and I have no delusions of ever growing a beard as ass-kicking as his. Right now I'd say it's somewhere between James Lipton and gay porn. I may let it go a little while longer even though it makes no sense as summer weather looms. I think I can go to the point where I could pass for a fish stick hawker (or maybe at least a Phish concertgoer).

Yes, I know beards have not been in style for quite some time. And mine doesn't look particularly good. And all but two people questioned on the subject have recommended that I immediately shave it off. (The two that didn't recommend shaving only said "do whatever the hell you want" followed by some muttering that sounded like "idiot.") But I don't care. It's my inalienable right as a man and as someone who can't grow hair on top of his head. Plus I know my girly little brother Kip couldn't grow anything nearly as manly as mine so I'm sure he's way jealous. It's true, no one holds the door for me at the daycare anymore, but it's a small price to pay. For the time being, the beard is staying.

Some beard knowledge* for y'all:

-The study of beards is called pogonology.
-The last U.S. President with facial hair was William Howard Taft, who was in office until 1913. Currently, not one Senator has facial hair.
- In ancient India, the beard was allowed to grow long as a symbol of dignity and of wisdom.
- In 1698, Peter the Great of Russia ordered men to shave off their beards, and in 1705 levied a tax on beards in order to bring Russian society more in line with contemporary Western Europe.
- Some Jews refrain from shaving during the 30-day mourning period after the death of a close relative, known in Hebrew as the "Sheloshim."
- Playoff beard is a tradition common on teams in the National Hockey League and now in other leagues where players allow their beards to grow from the beginning of the playoff season until the playoffs are over for their team.
- St. Clement of Alexandria quote: "This, then, is the mark of the man, the beard. It is older than Eve. It is the token of the superior nature….It is therefore unholy to desecrate the symbol of manhood, hairiness."
- In the late 60s and early 70s it was damn near impossible to get laid without a beard.

As for Announcement #2... stay tuned.

*Beard knowledge brought to you by Wikipedia. Mostly.