Category Archives: Work Camping

May31

Made It Through Another Memorial Day

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Memorial Day Weekend was a circus, but I managed to survive.

The main problem was a shortage of staff because a camp host couple made a deal with the new supervisor to arrive after Memorial Day. I don’t know how one accepts a summer job, then works it to arrive after summer’s opening weekend. The supervisor says he’ll never let it happen again.

Because of the staff shortage, over the weekend I covered three campgrounds and the parking lot. I was run ragged.

On Friday, I cleaned restrooms in the campground where I was stationed. Then I cleaned restrooms at the group campground down the road. After that, I cleaned the restrooms at my own campground. In all, I scrubbed seven pit toilets on Friday. For five of them, it was the first cleaning of the season.

When I finished cleaning restrooms, I worked at the parking lot for a few hours. I worked alone because my supervisor hadn’t called my co-worker on Thursday night to tell him to show up on Friday. The parking lot wasn’t too busy, thankfully, and when I left there, I had to check-in campers at all three campgrounds.

I didn’t take time to cook and eat a proper meal on Friday. I don’t even know where I would have found the time to cook a proper meal. It was a day of energy bars, cheese and crackers, blue corn chips, and the last of the hummus.

On Saturday morning as I was about to eat breakfast, a small silver pickup truck pulled into the campground. As I walked over (holding my bowl of food), the driver hollered out my name. Do I know this guy? I wondered. He was good looking and in my age group. We talked about campground where he could potentially stay for the weekend. Turns out he’d talked to my co-worker in the parking lot, who’d told him my name. I was enjoying the interaction with a nice and handsome man (even if my breakfast was getting cold), when two of the campers from my campground approached us.

The couple was upset about a group that had reserved the four campsites at the front of my campground. Apparently, most of those campers had arrived late, and had been loud until 4am. The guy complaining and another camper man had asked the group to be quiet, but that side of the campground stayed noisy throughout the night. I assured the irate campers I would notify my supervisor of the situation and let the loud folks know their behavior was unacceptable.

(While I spoke with the campers, the handsome man waved good-bye, jumped into his truck, and drove away, never to be seen again.)

By the time I made it to my campground to check-in the noisy folks, my supervisor had already spoken to them, so I thought everything would be ok.

After doing the check-ins at my campground, I was back to the parking lot to assist my co-worker. (The lack of staff meant there was no one to collect day-use fees at the overflow parking area at the campground where I was stationed.)

When I gave up on the parking lot (after several hours collecting fees there), I had to swing through my campground and the group campground to check-in more campers who were just arriving and make sure all the restrooms had toilet paper. I did cook myself a proper dinner that night, and I was asleep around 8:30.

It’s a good thing I went to bed early, because the man who’d complained earlier knocked on my van at 10:15. The previously noisy campers had been loud all evening, and now  that quiet hours (10pm to 6am) had kicked in, they were still loud. I apologized to the camper (although I had nothing to do with his distress), and drove 15 miles (on a dark and curvy mountain road) to wake up my supervisor.

Of course, by the time my boss and I arrived 45 minutes later, the noisy folks had calmed down a bit and the upset camper had packed up his tent and his wife and left. My supervisor and I talked with the young man who’d made the reservations for the group. He basically Eddie Haskelled (https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Eddie_Haskell) us by saying his group of young professionals would never disrespect anyone, and they’d only been loud briefly the night before because they’d been trying to set up their tents in the dark. Then, (I found out from other campers on Sunday evening), he lied right to our faces when he said a certain group of tents (pitched on one of the sites he’d reserved) with citronella candles burning on the ground in front of them did not belong to his group.

I finally got back to my campsite around midnight, but I was so jacked up, I didn’t get to sleep for almost two hours.

The big frustration on Sunday was the situation with parking for the trail.

#1 There was no one collecting fees for overflow parking in the campground.

#2 The new supervisor didn’t know he was supposed to have self-pay envelopes available in the campground so people could pay for parking that way.

#3 The iron ranger in that campground was broken, so if people deposited envelopes of money in it, the envelopes fell out at the bottom.

#4 The new supervisor didn’t give me and my co-worker enough day use passes to get us through the weekend.

I passed through the parking lot on the way to my campground to drop off my co-worker’s paycheck, and he told me he was almost out of day passes. I gave him all I had left, and went on my way.

When I got back to the campground with the day use area, I grabbed all the self-pay envelopes I had so I could use those to collect parking payments. As I walked through the overflow parking area, I shook down everyone I saw for their $5 parking fee.

In the main parking lot, my co-worker ran out of day passes around noon. He took over talking to incoming drivers, letting them know the lot was probably full, but to take a spot if they found one, then pay us the fee up front. Since I had the numbered envelopes with tear-off receipt tags, I was responsible for collecting payments.

Around three o’clock I ran out of envelopes, so I walked back to the campground where I was stationed and hid in my van to count parking lot money. When that was finished, I walked around the campground checking-in more campers. I was so exhausted on Sunday night that my dinner was a small bag of baked pita chips. I didn’t have the energy to prepare anything else.

Thankfully, no one knocked on my van on Sunday night, and Monday was mellow. The supervisor showed up with more day passes, and fewer people visited the trail.

Now I’m in the lovely time of fewer campers and more quiet, as we move toward the 4th of July.

IMG_6349

I took this photo of a giant sequoia.

May24

The Trail Is Closed

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I made it to California.

I made it to the general vicinity of my summer workplace

I made it through two days of boring (and dare I say, mostly useless) training.

And then I made it up the mountain.

I’m not yet stationed at my campground. I’m currently the temporary camp host at the campground next door to the parking lot for the trail. I’ll be there until the first of June, when the real camp hosts for that campground arrive (in a bus painted Ohio State colors, apparently).

When I arrived at the campground, the gate was still closed. No signs were hung on the signboards. The women’s restroom up front was locked, and none of my keys opened it. The men’s restroom was unlocked, but filthy. I had no cleaning supplies.  I had no toilet paper to stock the restrooms. I had no trash bags, and if I’d had any, I had no trashcans to put them in. On top of all of that, the crew who’d been in the campground cutting hazard trees had left tree debris everywhere. The campground looked like a war zone (or at least what I imagine a war zone in a forest would look like). I was not a happy campground host.

To make matters worse, the trail across the street was closed too. Forest Service employees were out there, cutting hazard trees. According to the Forest Service ,

Tree hazards include dead or dying trees, dead parts of live trees, or unstable live trees (due to structural defects or other factors) that are within striking distance of people or property (a target). Hazard trees have the potential to cause property damage, personal injury or fatality in the event of a failure.

I can’t vouch for what happens when a tree hits the ground and no one is there to listen (but I do have two words for you, baby: sound waves). When I was there to hear, falling trees were preceded by a huge cracking sound, followed by a reverberating thud. Such noise inspires awe, at least in me, but also in every other lay person who’s been standing near me when it’s happened.

So because the trail was full of hazard trees and because Forest Service folks were in there cutting the hazard trees, the trail was closed.

I didn’t talk to too many people about the trail on Thursday. The campground’s closed gate and the sign proclaiming Sorry, We’re Closed discouraged most people from even pulling their cars into the driveway. Some folks talked to the Forest Service employee stationed at the trail’s entrance. After the Forest Service guys went home (wherever home is to those guys), some folks parked on the road side of the campground’s gate to walk across the highway and read the sign warning of a possible $5,000 fine and six months in prison for anyone caught on the trail.

I had resigned myself to fact that the campground would not be opened that day, when fairly late in the afternoon I saw two men and their motorcycles outside the gate. I walked over to talk to them, and one of the men said plaintively, Are you really closed? He seemed tired and frustrated.

I told him we were closed. I suggested some other campgrounds down the road, but he said they’d already checked and found those campgrounds closed too. I explained the campground offered no toilet paper and no trash cans. I said I hadn’t been able to clean the restrooms. The man said he had his own toilet paper, could pack out his trash, and wouldn’t be offended by the state of the restrooms, as he had worked construction and was accustomed to portable toilets. After we talked awhile and I realized they were good guys, I decided What the hell, opened the gate and told them they could stay. They ended up staying three nights. Both of them were super nice guys, and I had several pleasant conversations with both of them. It was awesome to start the season (before the season had officially started) with nice campers.

I was able to officially open the campground on Saturday morning. People started coming through the gate before 11am. I did get one set of campers (a couple and their two dogs, none of whom gave me any trouble), but most of the people coming through the gate had come for the trail. After scrubbing the two front restrooms, I posted myself near the gate with a book. As car after car pulled in, I answered the questions of the visitors.

Yes, the trail is closed.

It’s closed because their are many hazard trees on the trail. The Forest Service is in the process of cutting down the hazard trees. It’s dangerous on the trail.

The drought killed the trees. Well, the drought and the bark beetle and some kind of mold. But mostly the drought. Because of the drought, the trees’ defenses were down and they couldn’t fight off the bark beetle and the mold.

Yes, the campground is open.

Yes, the restrooms are open. These up front are wet because I just cleaned them, but you are welcome to use the ones at the back of the campground.

There are giant sequoias in the campground. (pointing) There’s one. (pointing) There are three over there. (pointing) There are four over there. You are welcome to park your car and take a look around.

I also gave a lot of people directions to the next grove of giant sequoias, about twenty miles away.

Sunday was a little slower, but otherwise the same.

The highlight of Sunday was another set of nice campers, this time a family recently moved to Tucson with a Grateful Dead dancing bear sticker on the back window of their Volvo. They asked me questions about the trees in the campground, and I got to give my talk about the differences between giant sequoias and coastal redwoods.

So now I’m on my second of two days off and will go back up the mountain in a few hours.

I don’t know what the state of the trail will be when I get back up there. Forest Service workers were  there cutting hazard trees on Sunday. (Today’s our Monday, the young man monitoring the closed entrance to the trail told me cheerfully.) Last I heard, the Forest Service was planning to have the trail closed through the end of the month. Yep, closed for Memorial Day. If that’s how it works out, guess who’s going to get to talk to hundreds of disappointed visitors during the three-day weekend.

If you guessed it’s going to be me…you are correct. If you also guessed this is a duty I am not pleased about, you’d be correct about that too.

I took this photo of two giant sequoias which grew together and fused over hundreds (maybe thousands) of years.

I took this photo of two giant sequoias which grew together and fused over hundreds (maybe thousands) of years.

May8

This Summer

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I’ll be heading to my summer job pretty soon.

Of course, as I learned last year, when a summer job starts, the actual weather of summer may still be weeks away, especially in the mountains. There’s no way to tell what sort of weather I’ll encounter this year. I’m worried it will be too hot, even at over 6,000 feet.

I’m worried about mosquitoes too. Last summer mosquitoes bit me a few times, probably less than ten. Apparently it’s quite unusual to see so few mosquitoes at my campground. I think the lack of the little bloodsuckers was due to the dry conditions. While I’m no fan of drought, a minimally itchy summer was nice, and I’d like to have another one.

My plan for this summer is to spend more time on the mountain. Last year I went to civilization nearly every week. That used up a lot of gas, and when I was out and about, I bought things I could have probably done without, such as restaurant food and books and yarn and postcards from thrift stores. This year I want to use less gas and explore more of the area near my campground.

Last year my weekly excursions were necessary to shower and use the internet. This summer I am going to try a different plan.

My co-worker lives about 15 miles from my campground. Last summer he invited me several times to come over to his place and shower and do laundry; I never took him up on his offer. He doesn’t know it yet, but I do plan to take him up on his offer now.

In the community where my co-worker lives (the word “town” is too grandiose for the place), there is a small grocery store (more like a convenience store, really, but with no gas pumps) with an shaded outdoor patio. The store has internet access, and the owner told me last year that I am welcome there any time, even when the store is closed.

To tie it all together, the post office were I plan to set up general delivery is just down the road from my co-worker’s little community.

This means if I go to the small community, I will only have to drive 30 mile round trip to do the things I need to do, instead of the nearly 100 mile round trip I would have to drive to go to civilization. This new plan should save a lot of gas.So if three weeks a month I can shower and do laundry at my co-worker’s house, pick up my mail, and use the internet at the store, I can spend less money than if I go to the closest big town, even if I have to buy something at the store in order to support the people who are letting me use their internet.

I’m not sure what less trips to civilization is going to mean for this blog. I don’t know if I am going to be able to write and schedule a week’s worth of posts in one day. I may have to go to an every-other-day or three-times-a-week schedule. Please know that even if a new post doesn’t come up every day, I’m still out there, I’m still writing, and something new will appear eventually.

The best way to stay abreast of my writing is to subscribe to this blog. If you aren’t already a subscriber, it’s easy to sign up. Look to the right of where you are reading right now. You’ll see a button labeled Subscribe. Right above that button is a box where you can type in your email address. Once your email address is in the box, click on the Subscribe button. Once you are a subscriber, you will receive an email notification whenever a new post is available for your reading pleasure.

Have a great summer. I plan to do the same.

IMG_3158

I took this photo.

Feb24

More on House and Pet Sitting

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I’ve written a previous post about how I find house and pet sitting jobs.

I have more thoughts on house and pet sitting to share before I move on to other subjects, but the previous post on the topic was already quite long, so I decided to make this a two part-er.

As I already said, most of my house and pet sitting jobs have been for friends or for the friends of friends. I recommend to folks who want to house and pet sit: share your desire for this kind of work with all of your friends. I haven’t always been able to find the kinds of gigs I wanted where I wanted them and when I wanted them, but often friends did help me get jobs when I needed them.

If I were willing to travel more to get to house/petting sitting jobs, I would get a lot more of them. I suspect people who want to travel and do this kind of work could see the country (and probably other countries) this way. I have a sort of route I do through the West, and don’t want to drive to Austin, TX (for example) to spend a couple of weeks there taking care of someone’s dog. In my House Sit America profile, I am shown as available in only three states because I currently have no desire to drive all over the U.S.

When I responded to the Craigslist ad for my first dog sitting job, I obviously didn’t have any pet sitting references to offer. Instead, I offered contact info for people in the area who knew me well, such as the friend whose guest bedroom I was occupying. (Now I can’t remember if the woman who hired me asked for references or if she even contacted anyone to ask about me.) Once I had some experience under my belt, I was able to offer previous employers as references. However, since most of my jobs came through my friend network, I was already vouched for.

Money has always been a touchy subject for me. Maybe that’s because I grew up in the South. In any case, I often have a difficult time bringing up financial issues. When I took the dog sitting job I found on Craigslist, I didn’t even know I was getting paid!

Often, I don’t charge for my house and pet sitting services. Many times, I’ve felt it’s a favor to me to have a place to stay, especially times when I was living in the van and it was cold out or I didn’t have access to a shower. When I was living in my friends’ guestroom, I felt as if walking their dog while they were away for Christmas was the least I could do. In such situations, I felt as if I were participating in mutual aid, and I didn’t ask for money.

Other times when I house or pet sat for folks I knew had money but weren’t rich, I did ask for a small daily payment. In situations with multiple pets, pets that need medication, and/or long, bumpy drives over dirt road(s) to get to the house in question, I’m more likely to ask for some money to compensate for my extra effort. Houses offering desirable amenities (WiFi, the Food Network, the History Channel, bathtubs) are more likely to get free sitting from me.

House Sitters America recommends using a house sitting agreement. The company’s website says,

…using an agreement can prevent potential problems and misunderstandings. Both parties can state what is expected and organize the terms of the house sit, and then sign it.

However, I’ve never used such an agreement, maybe because most of my jobs have come through my friend network. When I mentioned a written agreement to the woman I’ll be sitting for through her ad on House Sitters America, she wasn’t interested.

So I think that’s everything I know about house and pet sitting. Feel free to ask questions or tell about your house and pet sitting experiences in the comments.

Dead Plant, Blue Sky

Here’s another photo I took near one of the houses I sat .

Feb23

How Do You Find Houses to Sit?

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One of the Facebook groups I belong to is The Non-Consumer Advocate. It’s a closed group, the description of which reads, We are citizens, not consumers. It’s linked to the blog of the same name, written by Katy Wolk-Stanley (http://thenonconsumeradvocate.com/). Ms. Wolk-Stanley says about herself,

I am here to help people learn to live on less, and to do so in a way that lessens their environmental impact. I define myself not by my purchases, but by my goals and actions. I am a library patron, leftovers technician, Goodwill enthusiast, utility bill scholar, labor and delivery nurse, laundry hanger-upper, mother and citizen.

Recently someone in the group asked who was living in unusual housing to save money. I wrote,

I live in my van. I have a sort of circuit of seasonal/temporary jobs. I score student responses to the essay or short answer portions of standardized tests in the spring. In the summer I am [a] camp host in the mountains of California. The goal is to earn enough [money] in the spring and summer to not have to work in the fall/winter. I also house sit in between. House sitting gives me some time out of the van, time to have house comforts with no out-of-pocket expense. Sometimes I house sit for free if the house is in a very desirable location, sometimes I sit for a very small amount, like $10 a day.

Another member of the group asked me how I find houses to sit. After writing a long answer to her question, I thought this topic would make a good blog post. So for anyone wondering how I find my house and pet sitting gigs, I’ll give you the answer.

I’ve found house/pet sitting jobs in a variety of ways.

The most common way I’ve gotten house and pet sitting gigs is through friends. Not only have I house and pet sat for friends, I’ve gotten house/pet sitting gigs from the friends of friends. Of the 18 house/pet sitting jobs I’ve had since 2012, only two were for absolute strangers. (Both of those absolute strangers hired me again to sit their houses and dogs during subsequent absences, but by that time, they were no longer absolute strangers.) The other times, I was either sitting for people I already knew or the friends of people I already knew.

I often scour Craigslist for jobs in whatever town or city I am in, but I’ve only found one house/dog sitting job that way in over three years. I suspect most people want a little more accountability than they think Craigslist provides.

The Craigslist ad for that job was honest to the point of comedy. The woman looking for the house/pet sitter put it right out there that the sitter would be sharing the bed with the dog! (I wonder if anyone but me applied for the job.) What the homeowner didn’t put in the ad was that the dog had a tiny bladder or was a scam artist or both, and I would have to get up several times each night to let the dog out into the backyard. She also didn’t tell me the house was possibly haunted. (Read more about that house and dog sitting experience here: http://www.rubbertrampartist.com/2015/07/01/southern-gothic-declining-gentility-edifice/.)

The second stranger I house and dog sat for, I met at a garage sale.

I was visiting a small town in the Southwest, and I decided to go to a garage sale on a Sunday afternoon. As soon as I arrived, I met the very nice dog who lived at the house. After I hit it off with the dog, the woman holding the sale and I chatted. She too had traveled in a van when she was younger, and she understood me and my life.

A few days later, I was walking just off the town’s main drag when a car passed by. Someone was waving out of the driver’s side window and shouting, I need to talk to you! I couldn’t imagine who it might be, since I didn’t know anyone in the town. After the car was parked, the woman from the garage sale emerged from it. She asked if I wanted to come back to the town in a month and house and dog sit for her while she was visiting family in California. As a matter of fact, I did want to return and stay in her house and hang out with her friendly dog. It turned out the be a wonderful house/pet sitting experience and the start of sweet friendship. Also, the next winter when I was in town, this friend referred me to her friends who were looking for a sitter; I got to spend a very cold week between Christmas and New Year’s Eve in a very nice and warm house with Direct TV and WiFi.

Last November, during a bout of what am I going to do with myself NOW? I paid $30 to join House Sitters America (http://www.housesittersamerica.com), which was recommended to me by an acquaintance who has happily used the service for some time. The website’s FAQ (http://www.housesittersamerica.com/sitter-faqs) explains the process this way:

How does House Sitters America work?

House sitters register to list their profile on the House Sitters America database.

Here they can be seen by US homeowners via the website. These homeowners are able to contact the house sitter directly to discuss potential house sitting.

Registered house sitters are also able to contact any of the homeowners through their adverts.

Once one registers as a house sitter via the House Sitters America website, one can choose the state(s) one is interested in sitting in. When a house sitting position is posted in the state(s) of interest, a potential house sitter gets an email with pertinent information and is able to contact the homeowner.

I have a house sitting gig coming up that I got through House Sitters America. I will post an update on the gig once it is complete, but hopefully it will be a blissfully uneventful two weeks and not an interesting story. If that’s the case, I’ll just post the update in the comments section of this post.

There are other services that connect house sitters and people who need caretakers for their property. One mentioned in the Non-Consumer Advocate group is The Caretaker Gazette. According to the publication’s website (http://www.caretaker.org/),

THE CARETAKER GAZETTE is a unique newsletter containing property caretaking and house sitting jobs, advice, and information for property caretakers, housesitters, and landowners. Published since 1983, it’s the only publication in the world dedicated to the property caretaking field.

I have not used The Caretaker Gazette, so I can’t necessarily recommend it, but I did want to include it as a resource I’ve heard about.

So that’s how I find houses to sit. Any questions? Anyone do things differently? I’d love to answer questions or read about what others do via the comments section.

To read more of my thoughts on house and pet sitting, go here: http://www.rubbertrampartist.com/2016/02/24/more-on-house-and-pet-sitting/.

Clouds, House, Fence

I took this photo of the area near one of the houses I sat.

Feb18

I Wish I Had Handled It Differently

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I hadn’t been a camp hot very long, but that’s really no excuse…

When I returned to my campground from collecting parking fees in the lot near the trail, I saw a tent pitched on the edge of the meadow. It was not in any designated campsite, which was an absolute no-no. There was a lot of leeway as to where a camper coluld pitch a tent within a designated site, but by no stretch of the imagination was this tent within a designated site. I saw a bicycle leaning against a tree near the tent, and as I drove the van closer, I saw a man standing there.

After pulling up next to the man, I opened the small triangle-shaped window, since my driver’s side window doesn’t roll down. I know I sounded cross when I told him he couldn’t camp there, that he had to pitch his tent in a designated campsite. He said he didn’t mind paying the camping fee, that he was only trying to leave spots open for people in cars who needed a full campsite. I told him again he’d have to move his tent, then said I’d be over soon to collect the camping fee.

This is what I wish I’d done: I wish I had parked the van first, then walked over to the man and talked to him eye-to-eye rather than trying to communicate from inside the van, through a tiny window. I wish I’d kept my tone pleasant and friendly instead of sounding (even to my own ears) aggravated and short-tempered. I know I wouldn’t want someone to bark at me from within a vehicle, especially if I truly thought I were doing something to make the lives of others easier.

My goal for the summer of 2016 is to show more kindness and compassion. I want to answer questions (even the stupid, stupid ones I’ve already heard countless times) as if I were being asked a reasonable question for the first time. I want to treat other people as I want to be treated.

Treating people with kindness and compassion (in my opinion) does not mean I have to get involved in their made-up dramas. It does mean answering their questions in a pleasant tone and giving them whatever information I have to allow them to solve their problem(s). It also means not assuming visitors should know what’s going on.

So what happened with the man who’d pitched his tent on the edge of the meadow?

He moved his tent and gear to site #5. When I walked over to collect his camping fee, I found out he was from Israel and was biking through the National Forest. He said he thought it was unfair that he–one person on a bicycle–had to pay the same fee to camp as six people in a motor vehicle. While I totally saw his point, I explained it would be a logistical nightmare if I had to charge different fees depending on the number of campers and the kind of vehicle they were driving.

I don’t think I changed his mind. However, I didn’t suggest he should travel with friends who would share a campsite–and its cost–with him. I simply collected his money and moved on.

Feb16

I Have a 4th Grader

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In the summer of 2015 I worked collecting parking fees across the street from a popular trail in a National Forest. Many visitors tried to avoid paying to park their cars. I heard many reasons why people thought they shouldn’t have to fork over $5 to park, including I’m disabled, I’m a veteran, I’m a disabled veteran, I pay taxes, I have an America the Beautiful pass, I’m a senior citizen, I’m a local, and I paid to camp.

Some time after Labor Day when I thought I’d heard it all, in response to my request for $5, the woman driving said, I have a 4th grader.

I suppressed the urge to say, What the fuck’s that got to do with anything? and looked at her blankly (which wasn’t difficult since I honestly had no idea what she was talking about) until she handed over the cash.

When I told my coworkers about the woman and her 4th grader, they were as perplexed as I was. A 4th grader? So what?

Words on building read "Organ Pipe Cactus National Monument." An organ pipe cactus stands in front of building.
Auntie Em and I visited the Organ Pipe Cactus National Monument.

Four months later Auntie Em and I visited the Organ Pipe Cactus National Monument. We were on a van tour of the Ajo Mountain Drive, and our driver was a lovely young ranger named Anna. As she made chit chat with us and the couple sitting int he first bench seat, Anna told us she wanted to make a career of working with kids on public (federal) land. She mentioned a program called Every Kid in a Park, and explained this program waived admission fees to public land for every fourth grader in the United States.

In an instant all became clear. The woman with the 4th grader thought she shouldn’t have to pay the parking fee because of the Every Kid in the Park program.

(According to the National Park Service,

To help engage and create our next generation of park visitors, supporters and advocates, the White House, in partnership with the Federal Land Management agencies, launched the Every Kid in a Park initiative. The immediate goal is to provide an opportunity for each and every 4th grade student across the country to experience their federal public lands and waters in person throughout the 2015-2016 school year.

Beginning September 1st all kids in the fourth grade have access to their own Every Kid in a Park pass. This pass provides free access to national parks, national forests, national wildlife refuges, and more!

Far down the list of official rules for the Every Kid in a Park pass  it says

…some sites are managed by private operators. They may not honor the pass. Check with the site ahead of time to find out.

If the lady with the 4th grader had checked ahead of time, she would have found the parking lot I worked in was indeed managed by a private operator and did not honor the pass.

As Anna explained the Every Kid in a Park program, I wondered–if I lived long enough, would I eventually understand the reason for everything I experienced?

Dec12

God Bless

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I see a lot of white folks on the mountain and a lot of Latino/as too, but not so many African Americans. (Of course, I know the color of a person’s skin doesn’t tell me everything—maybe doesn’t tell me anything—about that person, but I’d be lying if I said I didn’t notice skin tone.) So I noticed the slightly-older-than-middle-age African American man talking to the (on her day off) camp host when I pulled into the campground to start my patrol.

I went about my business as they talked. I emptied trash cans and made sure the restrooms were clean and had plenty of toilet paper. By the time I’d finished spiffing up the restrooms, the man had moved on, but I saw him (and his lady companion) as I rolled through the campground in the company truck. They’d pulled their pickup into site #7 and were unloading camping gear from the back.

I pulled the company truck to the side of the campground street, got out, said hello. I asked them if they’d put their payment in the iron ranger up front or if I needed to collect money from them. The man said they’d put their payment for two nights into the iron ranger. I then made sure they knew about the fire ban, made sure they knew they were not allowed to have a campfire or a charcoal barbecue. He said the camp host he’d talked to earlier had told him about the fire restrictions. Then I told him he was allowed to use a camp stove, but he needed a fire permit to do so legally. He said he did have a camp stove, but he didn’t have a permit. I told him no problem and said I’d get one for him.

Back at the truck, I looked through my bag of campground paperwork and couldn’t find a fire permit. Damn! I must have used the last one. I told the man I’d be right back, then went to bother the camp host on her day off.

She had some fire permits, but they were a little different from the ones I’d been using. I was supposed to sign this new one, and write in USFS (United States Forest Service) in the appropriate space. No problem.

When I swung back around to site #7, the man had his driver’s license out for me. I didn’t really need to see it, but I looked at it just to be polite. I gave the man the fire permit and pointed out the blanks he needed to fill in (name, address, signature) in order to make the permit valid. I said I hoped they’d enjoy their stay.

The man gave me a hearty thanks, but he didn’t just say, thank you. He said, Thank you for being here for us! Then he said, God bless you! But he didn’t just stop there. He said, God bless you and all of your family!

I often don’t know what to say when people throw a God bless you! my way (especially if I haven’t just sneezed), as God blessing me isn’t really part of my belief system. But this man was being so kind and so sincere…I was really touched. I said Thank you to him, and I really truly meant it. After a summer of freaks and jerks and idiots and assholes and weirdos, I so appreciated the kind words from this stranger.

Dec7

Tweakers and the Flat

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It was Wednesday, around noon, and I was patrolling in the campground across the street from the trail because it was the camp hosts’ day off. As I drove the company truck through the campground, I stopped to pick up trash and looked for campers I needed to check-in. At the back of the campground, I noticed something unusual.

A minivan was parked on site #7, but the picnic table on site #8 was loaded with food and cooking equipment. There was a reservation tag on site #8’s pole, so it looked as if the people with the reservation had arrived, unpacked onto site #8 but parked on site #7. Oh, if it had only been so simple…

I parked the truck across from the campsites and got out to tell the campers they needed to park their vehicle on the site they were camping on. Before I was out of the truck, I saw a man next to the minivan, waving me over. As I walked up, the man said something like I’m sure glad to see you…

It turned out these folks (the man who was glad to see me, probably in his mid-30s; a woman about the same age, with reddish-blond hair; a younger, shorter woman with curly dark hair; and a boy about 11 years old) didn’t have a reservation. They didn’t even want to camp. They’d just been driving through the campground and had pulled into site #7 and had gotten a flat. (They said they’d pulled into site #7 to turn around, which I realized later didn’t make any sense. The street through the campground is a one-way loop, so if they’d followed the street around, they would have soon come to the exit.)

Brown Spoke Car Wheel in Brown Sand during DaytimeThe man said when he pulled into site #7, he ran over one of the short wooden posts that mark the boundary of the parking space. He said he hadn’t seen the barrier because it was shorter than the rest. He seemed to imply that his flat tire was the fault of the company I worked for or maybe the Forest Service, whoever was responsible for the difficult-to-see wooden post. I remained calm and noncommittal when he insisted I walk over and see the wooden post. Sure, it was shorter than the rest of the barrier posts, kind of worn down with age, but it wasn’t invisible. None of the other people who’d pulled into site #7 during the summer had run over it.

When I went around the minivan to see the post that had caused the damage, I also saw the damage. To call the condition of the tire “flat” was quite an understatement. A better term for the condition of the tire was “blowout.” The tire was seriously damaged. The tire was not going to be repaired. The tire was a goner, an “ex-tire” a member of Monty Python might say.

I told the people they couldn’t’ occupy sites #7 and #8. The woman with the reddish-blond hair said when the tire blew out, they’d been so hungry they couldn’t think and decide to have some breakfast. I told them cooking was fine, but they should do it on site #7 since the minivan was parked there.

The man wanted to use the phone to call AAA. I told him there was no phone at the campground. I told him the nearest phone was about eleven miles away. I told him his best bet, if he wanted to use a phone, was to walk out to the highway that ran alongside the campground and stick out his thumb. I told him I wasn’t allowed to let anyone ride in the company truck. I didn’t tell him that no way was I putting him (or any other slightly twitchy male stranger) into my van and driving him through a practically deserted forest eleven miles to the nearest phone.

I’d begun to notice that the man was just a little twitchy, just a little off. I wasn’t sure if he (and the two women with him) were currently under the influence of methamphetamine, but I was pretty sure they’d been under the influence of some kind of upper recently and hadn’t gotten the amount of sleep they’d really needed the night before. NO WAY was I driving any of those people anywhere in my van.

At that point, I asked if they had a spare tire. They allowed that they did. I told them they should put the spare on the minivan, then drive to the payphone and call AAA. But the man really wanted AAA to bring them a new tire. He insisted that he really wanted to use the phone. I explained again: no phone in campground, nearest phone eleven miles away, you’ll have to hitchhike if you want to use the phone.

Several times throughout the summer, people acted incredulous when I explained that there was no means of the communication at my campground or at the trail’s parking lot or at the campground next door. I think people thought I was lying because I didn’t want them to use the phone I had hidden away. But no, there was no landline, no cell phone service, no satellite phone provided by the company I worked for. For real, the closest place to make a telephone call was eleven miles away.

The man was becoming less glad to see me, as I was proving most unhelpful. He said he wanted the Forest Service to help them. Wasn’t the Forest Service supposed to help people? he asked. He was not clear as to whether he thought the Forest Service should a) give him a ride to the pay phone so he could contact AAA or b) change the flat tire for him. I let him know I did NOT work for the Forest Service and said I’d talk to the other camp hosts and see if they had some ideas.

When I approached the camp hosts (who were trying to have a day off in their RV), they said they’d seen the minivan drive to the back of the campground around 10am. That meant the people had been back there with a blown-out tire for two hours and had done exactly nothing to change their situation. The camp hosts had the same suggestion I did: put on the spare and drive to the payphone.

I told the hosts the man had insinuated that the campground was somehow at fault for the blowout, and the female half of the camp host duo decided she’d better walk back to site #7 with me. She wanted to take some photos of the situation so she could cover her ass (and the company’s, I suppose) if the people tried to sue.

When the camp host and I returned to the back of the campground, the people had moved their things off site #8’s picnic table. I took that as a good start.

As the other camp host took photos with her phone, I told the man our best suggestion was for them to put on the spare and drive to the payphone to call AAA. Our second best suggestion, I told him was to walk out the highway and stick out a thumb. (I was polite, but I was losing patience.)

I don’t know how he did it—Jedi mind trick, I guess—but the man convinced me to drive the company truck to the Forest Service work center nine miles away and ask a Forest Service employee for help.

I swung by the parking lot first to tell my co-worker I might be late for my shift. When I explained the situation, my co-worker said—in his Shakespearean tone and cadence—I’d tell them to go fuck themselves.

That’s basically what the firefighter at the work center said, although in an infinitely more polite way. He said the Forest Service employees were busy fighting a forest fire, and in any case, they don’t offer roadside assistance. He said if the people needed help changing the tire, they should ask a camper on a neighboring site.

The people with the blown-out tire were not happy when I told them Forest Service personnel were not coming to their rescue.

I worked for a couple of hours in the parking lot, and around four o’clock, I went back to the campground to see if the folks with the blown-out tire were gone. They were not. However, they did have the spare on the minivan. The woman with the reddish-blond hair was all hyper when she told me they thought the spare was under the back storage area, so they’d taken everything out of the back, only to find there was no spare tire there. In fact, the spare tire was under the van. So not only had they wasted time taking out all their supplies, they had to spend time putting everything back in. But now everything was packed up, and the spare was on, and they’d be going.

Great! I said and went to tell the camp hosts the good news.

The camp hosts were not amused. In fact, one of them had driven to use the phone and called the company office and asked the office manager to call the sheriff of the Forest Service or someone who could kick out the people on site #7.

After I’d been gone a while, the female camp host walked to site #7 to see what progress was being made. When she walked up, she found a blanket strung from the minivan across to some bushes. As she was trying to figure out what was going on, the man and the woman with the reddish-blond hair jumped up from behind the blanket, pulling up their pants. The camp host was incensed and decided the messing around was going to end.

Five minutes after I’d told the camp hosts that the people from site #7 were ready to leave, we saw the minivan come slowly around the curve and then exit the campground. I was glad they left before some authority figure showed up. I wanted them gone too, but I didn’t want them to have to get involved with the cops.

I was glad to see their tweaker ways hit the road and leave me behind.

Image courtesy of https://www.pexels.com/photo/brown-spoke-car-wheel-in-brown-sand-during-daytime-53161/.

 

Dec3

Pancake Angel

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It had been a long day in the campground and at the parking lot.

I’d been sent to a larger campground after Labor Day weekend, and even with a golf cart to drive around in, it was a lot of ground to cover. By the end of each day, I was tired. It was the end of the day now, and I was ready to cook and eat dinner, then crawl into bed with a book and get some rest, but I still had to do the day’s last check of the campground.

It was only Thursday, so the campground was mostly empty, which was ok with me. The fewer campers I found during my last drive-through, the less work I had to do. Alas, I saw a small motor home parked on site #27, the very last space before I completed my rounds. Ok, I could do this! All I had to do was fill out the camping permit and have them sign, and I was home free.

The couple on site #27 was lovely. They were Canadians, French Canadians, from Quebec. As I walked up to the campsite, I saw the woman was holding a bottle of wine and two glasses. She laughed and told me in her beautiful accent that it was happy hour.

Although I was worn out, we ended up talking for quite a while about Quebec and the upcoming National Forest hunting season and the bear who’d been in the campground the previous week. Our conversation was so pleasant, and it was a joy to spend some time with people who were just plain nice.

After they signed their camping permit, I went to my own campsite where I made myself some dinner. As I ate my beans and rice, I thought about the next morning’s breakfast. I was out of eggs, and I was out of milk, so I was facing another breakfast of just-add-water pancakes. Don’t get me wrong, I love pancakes. I LOVE pancakes, especially when I don’t have to cook them and especially when I don’t have to clean the crusty pancake batter off the bowl. But even I have my pancake limits, and I’d already eaten pancakes two mornings in a row.

Just about that time I saw the nice French-Canadian lady walking my way. She was holding a little bottle, half full of a golden fluid. She approached the picnic table where I was sitting and told me she had something for me. She said in the glass bottle was maple syrup, special maple syrup from the region in Canada where she lived. She said she and her husband had more than they could use and wanted me to have the surplus.

I must have thanked her twenty times. That lovely golden syrup was exactly what I needed to get me excited about the pancakes I would be eating for the next couple of days. And lord, was it delicious! Eating that syrup was like eating golden Canadian sunshine delivered by an angel with a most lovely accent.