Back in 1999, when the movie The Blair Witch Project was making its rounds, Robin and I were camping in a forest service campground about fifteen miles from Crested Butte. The area consisted of only four campsites, a water pump, and a privy. On the plus side was that we had it all to ourselves, and the surrounding forest was beautiful.
On the second day it started to rain lightly at dawn, and when this continued through the morning and into the afternoon we decided to go into Crested Butte to take in a matinee movie. Just to get away from the drizzly grayness of the day.
The film showing was The Blair Witch Project.
We found the movie to be creepy in the extreme, and when we left the theater we stepped out into the same monotonous rain and dreary day as we returned to our tent in the forest where we were once again totally alone. It was an unsettling evening. The movie had done its work well.
On our recent visit to Woods Lake I was reminded of that time by something we found on the far side of the lake and just a few yards in from the shoreline. Someone had spent time assembling this … whatever it was.
Look, I’m not sayin’ that spooks exist, or that there is any connection between this structure and those strange ones in the film. I’m just noticin,’ that’s all.
But neither did I wander in the woods around the lake after twilight.
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From The New Yorker
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Among our present Supremes there are those who aren’t acting Supremely at all. There needs to be a mechanism to clean those tainted bench seats without waiting for mortality to do the job for us. Here are some suggestions that sound like improvements to me.
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Yet another item from our recent Woods Lake campout.
We were in our car and returning to our site when a young man crossed the road in front of us and Robin exclaimed: Look at that! He looks just like a movie star!
So I looked. I swear to God that the guy was a physically perfect human being. About six feet two, and if you put a pair of hiking shorts and a knit shirt on this statue it would look just like him.
Curly blonde hair and all. Without the wolf.
I had to rush Robin into our campsite and blindfold her until the man was well away from our part of the campground in order to allow her vital signs and sense of propriety to return to normal.
Good grief! Like I need the comparisons.
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From The New Yorker
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I’m typing this two days after yet another disturbed person with an AR-15 in his hands killed someone in America. There is so much heavy breathing going on right now in the chattering classes even though no one has any idea how this will play out that I’m not going to add to the clamor.
I do remember clearly the feeling that I had in November of 1963, after some of the dust had cleared, that violence was so poisonous to healthy political life that anyone who advocated for it should be immediately relegated to the sidelines and deprived of their megaphone.
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A quote to apply to today’s headlines, from a poignant source.
There is no defense against a determined man with a rifle.
John F. Kennedy
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Little Home In The Valley 
I feel like I shouldn’t be commenting on American politics and the like, but…flippin’ ‘eck.
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