Circle Square Ranch - Part 2

After a year of hearing us boast about our camp experiences (see Part One), Jackie and Sandra decided to join us at Circle Square Ranch the next summer.  The four of us shared a wagon with Hannah, Cynthia and Linday.  Cynthia had already been there for a week where she met a boy, who was so taken with her, he paid for her to come back again to spend another week with him.  I remember being taken quite aback that she'd accept such a gesture, especially considering she insisted she didn't 'like' him.

We had an honourary bunkmate named Montana.  She didn't sleep in our wagon, but her bunkmates didn't like her for some reason (how very un-Christian of them...) so we befriended her and talked crap behind their backs and gave them all the mean squinty eyes (un-Christian of us, too, I suppose).  Montana was obviously cool, since she had long cornrows and, well, her name was Montana.

There was another camper named Annette.  She had short blond hair and seemed much more mature than the rest of us.  I wasn't actually present for this happenstance, but when her group was at the rock climbing wall, she slipped on a rock at the top and started to fall.  Her partner wasn't paying due diligence at the time so the rope was tearing through the grigri.  Rope burn prevented him from grasping it, so in a heroic act to save her spine from possible snappage, he shoved his hole hand into the metal device, grinding the rope to a stop.  Annette jerked to a halt without injury, but her poor partner's hand got mangled in the process.  He was a reluctant hero and Annette continued to walk.  She further cemented her reputation when her leather-clad father picked her up on his motorcycle at the end of the week with her duffel bag bungeed to the rack.

We followed the same basic itinerary as the previous year: horseback riding, rock climbing, camp fire and the such.  This year I recall a much higher fervour of Bible lessons, prayer, and confessions.  Our councilor had a particularly heart breaking back-story that she shared with us, and possibly because of that we all decided to turn a leaf and embrace a stronger set of Christian values.  After the week was done, the four of us returned to Brampton feeling very religiously inspired, though I can't say how long that lasted.  I also have some drunken teenage memories of house parties where Laura climbed into a dryer.   

The "shmuck the staff" that year was much more successful for me.  I had the ultimate pleasure of finding the camp director, so whereas anyone else who found a councilor got a can of whipped cream to douse them with, I got an Italian-family sized can of tomato sauce to pour on poor Steve.  I savoured this honour.  Not because I didn't like Steve, but because what person gets full permission and approval to paint another human being with tomato sauce?  Seriously.  I fully recognized that this was a once in a lifetime honour, and I was prepared to enjoy every second of it.  I let it drip on Steve's head until it streaked down his face like he'd been scalped.  Then I used handful's of it to chuck against his shirt until he looked like a massacre victim.  By the time I was finished the entire gallon (remember I said Italian-family sized can) I too looked like I'd been through significant trauma. 

Almost as if I was suffering from withdrawl, knowing that my tomato sauce painting days were over, was nearly too much to bare.  Whats more, the ground beneath where poor Steve had once knelt was a thick pool of the substance.  As I am a firm believer of reduce/reuse/recycle, it was beyond my self control to simply leave it lay.  I scooped up a handful and continued my human sauce painting movement on Sandra, Jackie and Laurie.  Within minutes, the four of us had a makeshift mud wrestling pit.  We didn't even notice that our escapades were not appreciated by the councilors and unfortunate bystanders who got the back spray.

5-Split Split End!

I just wanted to share this. 

Not so much of a memory...let's call it a memory in the making.

Circle Square Ranch - Year 1

Summer camp was always the highlight of each summer of my childhood. I was an avid and enthusiastic Brownie, Girl Guide and Pathfinder - all of which I attribute my high level of morality and neurotic necessity to obey rules. I went to countless camps through these groups, but the singular camp that stands out above all else without question was Circle Square Ranch.

I came to hear of Circle Square Ranch through Laurie. Both Laurie's parents worked, so each year her summer vacation consisted of week after week of some camp or another. This one, she told me, you get to sleep in a wagon, go horseback riding, rock climbing and swimming every day. My interest was piqued. I had to be a part of it. It didn't take much convincing on my part for my parents to send me there too. Neither my brother nor sister had any interest in being more than kilometre or two from the TV, so all the 'child recreation funds' were generally allotted to me. The fact that it was a Christian camp didn't hurt either.

The legend of Circle Square Ranch was that it was build on the foundations of a century old farm house that burnt to the ground one night. A few sheep managed to make it out of the flaming building, their wool on fire. In desperate attempt to extinguish themselves, they dove into the river that ran behind the barn and drowned. Their death's permanently fouled the water, thereon known as "lamb chop water". Amongst us campers, it was ritual for everyone to have a drink of lamb chop water when they first arrived at camp. It tasted like sulfur, but was unavoidable if you intended on making friends. Our second ritual was grabbing the horses' electric fence. There's really nothing I can say to defend this...in part because I know it was a poor decision, but also because it zapped too many brain cells for me to think of a clever explanation.

Laurie and I were assigned to a wagon with a few other girls - Hannah, Robin, Jen, Sarah, whatsherface, and a leader. Each day we ate in the mess hall, had a horseback riding lesson, went swimming, climbed the rock wall or went mountain biking, did crafts or the ropes course, played sports, Bible study, and sang camp songs around the fire. It was everything that camp should be. For those of us who's parent's loved us, we had an allowance to spend at the tuck shop to ensure that we were sufficiently hocked up on sugar during all of it.

Our bunk-mate Hannah was a self-explained Jesus Jew. I didn't understand what that was at the time, and even now I'm still a bit confused. Regardless, she was way cooler than I was and I kind of looked up to her. At this age, I had very little interest in boys, though I was beginning to notice they existed. Meanwhile, Hannah had fully accepted their existence and had caught the eye of a fellow camper who had taken a liking to her. What's more, they arranged a secret rendezvous behind the outhouse at 10pm one night. We all eagerly stayed up waiting for her date, but she cooly decided to stand him up. The poor boy was discovered asleep behind the outhouse later than night by his councillor. Hannah was further elevated in my books.

Eating at the mess hall was a great deal of fun. If I recall correctly, the most important rule was to not rest your elbows on the table. Each councilor and camper was perched on the edge of their seat in anticipation of catching someone who mindlessly did. I was unfortunate enough to get caught once, and suffered a rendition of "JULIE JULIE IF YOU'RE ABLE, GET YOUR ELBOWS OFF THE TABLE. THIS IS NOT A HORSE'S STABLE, BUT A FIRST CLASS DINING TABLE! STAND UP, SAY YOU'RE SORRY!!" Me: "I'm Sorry". "BALLET! BALLET! BALLET, BALLET, BALLET AROUND THE DINING HALL!" During this chanting I had to spin ballet-style around the circumference of the whole mess hall. Back at my seat, I am now more interested in barfing up my dinner than finishing it.

I looked forward to each day's horseback riding lesson. Each horse at Circle Square Ranch was donated and had a former life as a race horse, show jumper or the like, so they were exquisitely trained and gentle. Unfortunately, the same couldn't be said for the Shetland Pony, Lonnie. Lonnie was donated because she was just a bitch of a pony. Since she was too squat to ride, she only lived at the Ranch as a gesture of good ol' fashioned Christian goodwill. It was impossible to contain her to a stall as she consistently stamped through the latches. From there she'd bully the horses -twice as big as herself- and bite them. She was a source of constant amusement and evasive maneuvers. If she was keen to bite the horses, who knows what she would do to a curious camper.

Each week ended with a camp-wide manhunt for the councillors, called "Shmuck the Staff". If you were fortunate enough to catch one of the leaders, you had the pleasure of spraying them with a can of whipped cream. This year, neither Laurie nor I were fortunate enough to have the honour. Oh well, there was always next year.

Our Peru Trip Video

Inca trail montage from Caroline P on Vimeo.

How I learned to "look before you leap"

Growing up, we loved visiting my Aunt Marg's house in Milton during the summer when we could use her swimming pool.  It wasn't just the pool we loved.  We loved under the pool as well.  Her backyard was on a hill, so the pool deck was level closest to the house, but you could walk around it and get under the deck.  This arrangement made for excellent hide and seek games, and provided a wealth of bugs and plants to find and examine.  In particular, there were always little yellow butter flowers that you held under your chin and your chin glowed yellow from their reflection, it meant you loved butter.  Spoiler!  If it was sunny out, everyone loved butter.  But at the time - gasp!  I DO love butter! 
The spider webs that we found under the pool were incredible and pristine, complete with fat spiders of all sizes munching on untold numbers of bugs.  There were so many snails that it was impossible to go barefoot under the pool as their shells would inadvertently crunch under your feet.  My favourite were what we called pill bugs; the little guys that would curl up into their shells like armadillos and roll around the margarine containers we put them in.  We were told mice lived under there as well, but were never able to confirm that rumour.

As my memory holds, it was a typical day during a typical summer and we were eager for a swim.  Part of the fun at my aunt's pool was the assortment of pool toys kept on her deck in a big wooden trunk.  There were all sorts of inflatable toys, boats, floaties, flippers, and snorkels.  My brother, sister and I would race to see who got the best gear for our aquatic escapades (re: dunking each other until someone cried and we were ordered out of the pool).

On this day day I opted for surprise-under-water-tactics and thus required the snorkeling set.   I rushed to shove my feet into the flippers, and the snorkel and mask set over my pony tail. I dove in ready to begin my assault.  As I ducked under the water I put the snorkel in my mouth and took a big breath.

And filled my lungs full of earwigs.

I came to the surface choking, gagging and gasping for air, but it was too late.  The earwigs of Aunt Marg's wooden pool toy trunk were now scrambing around deep in my lungs. 

To this day, every time I feel a sharp prick while breathing, I think of the pile of little earwig carcase shells that might still be there...cemented to the sides of my lungs with their horny little pointers jabbing my flesh.

But I always check the snorkel tubes now.

Stories...that I will probably regret sharing

Something happened this past weekend which drew up a couple memories for me.  Although distasteful, I find that people take great joy in hearing them.

In descending order of grossness...

It wasn't me, I swear!  I am a LADY!

This past weekend, I saw a small something on my carpet.  I wasn't sure what it was because my eyes are not terrific and I'm too lazy to bend over to get a proper look at it.  So I picked it up with my toes, as I'm apt to do, and brought it upwards to see what it was.  The object didn't make it as far as my hands however before I was able to detect what it was from its consistency.  My dear and loving feline had left a small chunk of poo for me.  And now it was between my toes.  Awesome.

Calm down, I poop in my bed too.

Years ago I had a pet iguana named Louie.  Why my parents allowed me to have an iguana, I'll never know, as they grow to nearly 2 meters tip to tail.  Louie lived in an aquarium in my room, but I often left the top of her cage open so she could stroll around as she pleased.  This was never an issue as she always returned to her heat rock and food before too long.  One evening after returning from working a late shift at the movie theatre, I got ready and climbed into bed without turning on the light.  My feet felt cold at the bottom of the bed, but I disregarded that simply assuming they'd warm up shortly.  After a little while I started questioning whether my feet were actually cold or perhaps wet instead.  It took me a while to rouse the energy to get out of bed to flip on the light to verify, but once I did, I discovered that Louie had suffered an impressive bout of diarrhea on the end of my bed, which I had been lying in for a good 15 minutes.


Lastly, and worst of all...

I'm so sweet, I poop chocolate chips

During university I had a pet guinea pig named Venus.  During the summer when I moved home we kept her cage in the kitchen where she could enjoy the most attention as well as close proximity to the vegetable bin.  One afternoon, Sarah and I were enjoying our lunch (read: PC Decadent Chocolate Chunk Cookies) and as we passed by Venus' cage my cookie crumbed a bit and fell on the floor.  Being a good Otten I don't allow cookies to go to waste so I picked up the remnants and ate them anyway.  Another step forward I see a rogue chocolate chip on the floor.  So I ate it.  And then immediately realized that it wasn't a chocolate chip at all.  It was a guinea pig poo.