I Dig, You Spoon?!

Well, in essence, this is a simple concept.

Run 3 was a bit of a mismatched but not misguided event. The concept was simple, make a new campsite. The work was simple, in fact, so simple, that it will no doubt rub off on this entry, resulting in brutal simplicity the likes of which only Ren and Stimpy have seen!!

Too dramatic?

Whatever. Look, there are no great stories here, so I'll just ramble.

The primary objective this time around was dig. Dig new fire rings, new sumps, new P2B's (yea, you know, those super elegant outdoor shitaroos). And, look, I ain't going to blow my own horn here too much, but the rest of the squad might as well be wielding DQ plastic spoons compared to my relative dozer of digging power! Its not totally fair, I suppose, I do have a hell of a lot more experience, but the others either lack the stamina to keep digging deeper or the know how to punch 3 foot deep holes into the earth (really, its not a hard concept).

We spent our first few days doing simple work, digging a few P2B's, digging a few things here and there, climbing a few trees, eating a few tortillas. Ahh, tortillas! The staple of work crew! What do ya put your peanut butter and jelly on? Tortillas! Your mildly warm, unrefrigerated lunch meat? Tortillas! Your cheese and over ripe avocados? Tortillas! Your taco meat? Tortillas! Your Tortillas?!! MORE TORTILLAS!!!!

When we grew tired of digging, we smashed rocks. All kinds of rocks! Slipped on a pair of safety glasses (the cool kids call 'em blades) and took our large 12 pound sledges and went to work! BAM! and a wave of little rock fragments would wash over our faces! BAM! and the nearby campers would ooh and aah over our indomitable strength! BAM! and we watched as rocks that had sat perfectly content for millennium were submitted to an early dismemberment.

Labor is all that it really is. Simple, mindless labor. All you have to do is tuck it in, grab your tool of choice and wail away for hours on end. No thought, no talent. No need for anything more than strength and stamina. BAM, BAM, BAM. And when the foreman calls out that its time to go home, there is a pit, or little bitty rocks, or a small patch of destruction or creation that you can call your own. Its not poetic. Its rhythmic. And a trained monkey could do it!

And because we are out of trained monkeys, plenty of young college students looking for a summer job will do. Because they are used to living in a zoo, don't mind being fed peanuts, and don't know any better. They think jobs like this are a god send! Holy Shit! Why not go get a good job or internship, or volunteer in Africa?! Why slave away doing mindless tasks with no career skills? I'll tell you why, its cause, perhaps, we have to learn what we don't want to spend our lives doing.

And we dug some more. We dug till our arms refused to be lifted upwards anymore, till they hung at our sides, like ugly, pale dead eels. We dug till our backs refused to remain upright, till they begged to be horizontal. And we ate (tortillas). And we slept. And we awoke to the first rays of the sun and began again. We dug until our gloves fell apart, till we struggled to scrap loose dirt from the bottom of our pits with our hands. And when the digging was done, we strapped on our packs and headed out again, till we found new places to dig.

We dug while the rain pelted our backs, while it washed the grime and filth from our faces and arms. We knelt in the mud, letting our pants turn the color of the earth we were struggling to remove. We dug in rich forest soil, alive and gentle, full of organic life. We dug in clay, each inch a struggle of pain and anguish, frustration and curses. We struggled against rocks and roots and all manner of things. And what did we dig for, you ask? We dug for the opportunity to dig more.