e le fontanelle, com'e vanno?

kemosabes
I leave this land of milk, honey and stink bugs tomorrow, so no more wonderful postages to this address. Did I tell you I got stinked by a stink bug? I sat there poking him with a stick, and then the end of his butt got red and looked like he was bleeding a little, but man, did it stink, oog. Not like farts either, but like poisonous evil stink.You can't see it tho, which is a shame. A couple of good stories --- The day before I left the backcountrycabin ( I did nothing all week except sleep in the glorious sun and watch two robins shove worms down the throats of their unsuspecting newly hatched chicks) I was reading Aldo Leopold in my underwear, outwhere the trail passes through the clearing, and a youngish couple came up and asked directions. I had my ranger hat on, which lent gravity to the situation, and i told them all I knew. I also told them, since I was leaving the next day, I would probably see them en route; they said they were camping in zone A, up at the top of Capulin canyon.The next morning, personal goodbyes to the fieldmice said and last pictures taken I headed out, with the heaviest pack on my back of the entire season (carrying all the stuff I need to take home). I was hiking through zone B, below zone A, and I saw the glimmer of a tent."Great!" I thought, I'll say hello and have a cup of coffee withthem." Then, as I walk further, I saw the glimmer of a bare white ass.It turns out they were camped not 2 feet from the trail, and were having wild passionate monkey sex in the middle of the trail.. Literally in the trail, so I had to walk by, step over their tangled feet (they didnt even pause!) and look away red-faced as I passed. It was so silly I cant explain, like "Oh, dont mind me, Im just passing through. Nono, please, don't get up. .. .!" Then I realized, while I was laughing, that I should probably commemorate the event with something, and so, just before the trail went over a rise and dipped out of sight, I turned around, cupped my hands to my lips and bellowed "Keep up the Good Work!!" It seemed like not only something to say to the couple, but also a statement of thanks and goodwill to the deer, the trout in the river,the western tanagers nesting the trees near the cabin. . . . my ultimate, final, thank you. And I laughed all the way home. In many ways, it was rather a perfect ending, although I realized that shouting "Save a Tree! Eat a Beaver!" might have been better. That same day, i had been slumped (again in my underwear) over the log that goes across thebrook by the cabin, just like Mowgli after Balou taught him what was what. I was looking for the trout, but he wasn't answering, and so I started watching instead a spider spin its web. I had just finished a chapter on spiderwebs in my book, and so it was like a practical lesson. Then I looked over, and old Trouty decided to show up afterall. The about 5 feet away from him, a robin alit on a twig, and it looked us over head to toes, like Groucho Marx "Well! Looks like the gangs all here, I see" Spider, fish,bird, and mammal, pretty much all the bases covered. Then last night I was packing all my stuff in the frontcountry cabin,when there was a gentle knocking on the door. An ancient, very wet woman and a youngish very wet asian lady are wringing their hands and keening like whales. This was at 8:30 pm, so it was dark, and it turns out that the their two husbands are back miles up the canyon, because the older one is 83 and cant walk any further. (This is a forehead slapper; 83, Lady! Christ. . .) I am the only one around, thus they have found my light, and so I temporarily become the chief ranger, soother of nerves, and general hospice agent. I brought them down to headquarters, stuck them with this girl who had been in my cabin mooning over me from her great height of 8 feet 13 inches, and started calling rangers. Dale, who is off that day, tells me that since I have gotten all the information from these two crones about where they left the men, I should probably gear up and start hiking up Frijoles canyon to find them. So I do; I set off in the dark, withwater, first aid, warm clothes (as I am walking out the door, the asian lady shouts at me "bring them socks!") and a jittery joy: finally, something exciting! Over the radio, however, I hear that it is rapidly becoming Vietnam;all the rangers who are home toasting their toes by the fire of course have their radios on, and are coming racing down from Los Alamos and White Rock to share in the fun. I wish I could say that I was solely responsible for bringing this dribbling, tottering old man and his son out of the dark woods, but in fact I was part of a group of 2 that found them, and a group of three that frogmarched them -- at amindbendingly s..l..o..w pace, out of the canyon and saved the day. Thats right; me me me me me have I told you about ME? The old man had no balance, depth perception, and bum hips -- one wanted to box the son's ears; you DOPE! -- and so instead of walking across all the little wooden bridges where the trail crosses the creek, both man and son inched and swayed, listing one way and then the other, and shuffled through the water. Thus, I suppose the previously incomprehensible and bellowed asian command of "SOCKS!" Needless to say, in a situation like this, the usefulness of some and the boggling, utter uselessness of others (namely a fat female ranger, and of course old "Chief Rock'n'Roll Patrol" himself) became very clear indeed. Look busy, pass the buck, and dont get caught responsible; a more sweaty and sebacious bunch of sausages I have never seen shoe-horned into such ill-fitting, officious uniforms. This all began around 8:30pm or so, and I went to sleep at 7am(including, of course, 4 hours of requisite boozing afterwards)And so thats that; tomorrow Im out like benjy -- its a sad feeling.
xoxo
wally