Alas, poor blog. How I have neglected thee.
I am not dead. Nor am I injured, in jail, or on Brangelina Baby Watch. I’ve simply been really, really, REALLY busy.
We spent our vacation camping on Assateague. It was a great time. The tent was destroyed by a thunderstorm on day 2. We were hanging out watching the ponies, having had an early dinner of grilled fajitas. Looking up, Brewguy noticed the weather front moving in our direction. Lines of grey clouds were sweeping across the sky, fast.
“Ooo! Ahh!” we all say. “Neat!”
As the front passed overhead, there was an immediate downblast of wind, followed by a sideways blast of wind that became a sandstorm. A strong blast. So strong, in fact, that as we looked across the loop at our tent we saw it bend down to the ground.
“Noooo!” We all took off at a run for the tent. By the time we got there, no more than 1 minute later, the tent had ripped away from the stakes holding it to the ground. The main poles were bent and the rain fly pole had snapped. We threw the kids in the car (thunder had started) and immediately began dragging everything out of the tent and putting it in the car. There is nothing worse than wet sleeping bags when you are camping.
Imagine the scene: Here I am, flat on my stomach, the wind pressing the tent onto my body as I try to drag pillows and clothes out of the tent, shoving them out behind me because I can’t stand up. There is lightning and thunder and it has started to rain. All I can think is, “I’m going to get struck by lightning in this stupid tent.” The little brewers are shrieking with fear and delight at the whole deal, bouncing up and down on their seats as we throw pillows, clothes and blankets on top of them.
Five minutes later, everything is out of the tent and we are in the car. Rain starts pouring down. Lightning and thunder are rampant. The clouds in the sky look like giant scary fingers reaching down from above. The little brewers are still shrieking with delight and wonderment about 1) the storm, 2) where we are going to sleep (“Are we going to sleep in the car? Can we sleep in the car?”) and 3) all the stuff piled on top of them. I look at Brewguy and say, “I think I saw a Clarion in Ocean City.”
The Clarion turned out to be a very nice hotel. So nice, in fact, that we stuck out considerably with our windblown hair, sandy feet and slightly dazed look.
The next day we drove to Salisbury to replace our tent. There at Gander Mountain, amid the guns, ammunition and duck blinds, was a small tent section, enough for our needs.
The rest of the trip was much more uneventful. SPF50 and OFF! are still my friends. Little Brewer #1 invented a noisemaker out of an empty Gatorade bottle and some yarn. It sounds very much like a diggery-doo. My car finally got a name: Big Red. I try to name all my cars but this one didn't speak to me until now. Next year we will figure out a way to bring bicycles.
Next up: Fun with Amtrak!